Unyielding monoliths of spit and tongue…. Fucked and ready to fuck your head…. Where so much ‘poetry’ can be yadda, these are words saying something hard and loud, and meaning it….  This is the kind of book you can’t ask for until you have it. (Blake Butler) His Numbers are absolutely essential. Massman’s poems burn like pure grain in the mouth…. Read, you pithy coward—read. (Chris Tonelli) Gordon Massman is the kind of writer that guts you, revolts you, makes you fall in love or a lake, makes you want to live a little bit realer in your own world. (Shelly Taylor) Oh good, now, NOW, there is something to talk about — something that, timid people be damned, will enforce response on multiple fronts. . . . In the same way that there is much to be discussed and discovered — not to mention felt, as being supreme among the beings — in the works of artists like Joel Peter-Witkin, Hans Bellmer, Paul Mccarthy, David Hamilton, et al. — there is a similar immanence in even the very gesture of Mr. Massman’s work, despite the anti-disclaimer on the back of the book, which is all the more invitation, right? (Brandon Shimoda)