(Vice) Viscera slits open the boundary between the corporeal and the cerebral. And Willow Loveday Little isn't afraid to get ugly: exploring tensions between performance and performative ethics, otherworlds of illness and medicine, patterns of violence and intimacy. "My language is my body," she writes. Yet, while these poems are of the viscera, the vulnerable, and the dark, they bare the pulse of a truly electric intelligence. A sly and intricately wired nervous system, her work abounds in multivalent meanings, reversals, and linguistic cunning. Its voice channels the motions of the body and the scalpel, dissects the inner workings of the mind and heart with surgical precision, yet deals compassionately with each, never mangling the live matter it examines. How do we mend a broken heart, deal with disenchantment, grow up, or grieve? Alternately personal and esoteric, the substance of this debut collection defies categorization, except that, as it reveals itself, so too does it the reader.