Poetry. "Jen Tynes' HUNTER MONIES is a tracking expedition. I find myself hooked on a voice, and I wander behind it. It echoes and distorts. It turns corners, and I hurry after it, and, only after catching it, do I realize the corner was a horse, the horse, a jar, the jar, a slaw or a bloodletting or a flea market emptied out after a busy morning. This is a world simultaneously strange and familiar. I hear talking and realize I'm been eavesdropping and try to figure out what I'm listening to: a voice consulting with itself, a voice talking to a corpse it refuses to admit is dead?: it's the sound of someone walking to town through the woods, making an art of note-taking, talking to the plural of herself and her dream of us, talking to acorns, asking of antlers on—and removed from—animals, asking of a rogue melon, listening to a discarded suitcase and rotting lace, listening to a hoard of boys in the distance, licking a noun, licking a bit of old magazine—the glossy eye of an indiscernible star, licking the back of a June bug, swallowing bling and coughing up song. This is a speaker who's 'gonna tell you' more 'else' than 'what.' I admire the room this book makes and the ground it covers. As I've come to expect, Tynes is more forage than forget."—Kristi Maxwell