The high-performance pieces in At the End of the World steer a reader off-road—into the cave, the bog, the pool; the “electric marketplace,” “dyslexic day,” the “gunslinger afternoon.” Into the “terror called language.” Michael Mirolla’s poems are philosophical yet conversational; tough, wise, witty and gripping. Ironically romantic. Plato, Zeno, Updike and Pound, Cohen, Woolf, Rilke and Kafka can watch, from
the vault, Mirolla glow in his own “added shadows.” I’m blown away and beckoned back—surprised each read by his “magic use of words,” if not fully “safe from both light and darkness.”
Elana Wolff, author of Swoon