Realistic Meat Substitute is a jagged, feverish collection of poems and hybrid pieces that feel steeped in the fumes of late-stage American life. Across sections like “Uncanny Valley,” “Thoroughly Cooked,” “Frankenstein Complex,” and “Kool-Aid or Hemlock,” author Chris D’Errico writes out of a world saturated by conspiracy, commodification, digital alienation, political hysteria, ecological dread, and a stubborn, battered hunger for something more human.

What stayed with me most was the book’s texture: its collision of the grotesque and the lyrical, the absurd and the mournful. One moment we’re in the carnivalesque overload of “Post-Organic Afterworld” or “The Idiot’s Guide to Coup D’etat,” with their clang of slogans, grift, and synthetic identity, and the next we’re in something unexpectedly tender and elegiac, as in “Rock Formations,” with its dead friend Reggie and its gentle ache of memory, or “Departures,” which softens into grief, time, and farewell.

I admired the momentum of the language. D’Errico has a gift for startling phrasing and hard, memorable turns of image. He can be funny, ugly, and very beautiful in the space of a few lines. “Truth Is a Bust” turns truth into a whole unstable, disreputable character, grubby and theatrical and impossible to domesticate, and that poem captures much of the book’s method at its best: personification pushed until it becomes social diagnosis. Elsewhere, pieces like “NOLA Elegy” and “A Love Supreme” show he can do something looser and more melodic, letting place and music carry emotional weight without losing his edge.

I also loved the recurring fascination with sound, rhythm, performance, and noise, the sense that music is one of the few surviving ways to get back to the body, to breath, to soul. The book’s density occasionally asked a lot of me as a reader. Its mode is often accumulation, barrage, and incantation, which can be exhilarating, though in a few poems I felt the intensity of the language overshadowed some of the deeper emotional or reflective movement.

This is a collection deeply suspicious of false transcendence, macho mythmaking, internet brain-rot, and the various ways people trade complexity for certainty. Again and again, D’Errico returns to the emptiness of slogans and the seduction of ideological theater, whether in “Resist the Fallen World,” “Your Motherboard Doesn’t Love You,” or “The Mirage,” where he cuts through delusion with the plain imperative to go outside, listen to birds, pay attention to rain, traffic, physics, reality. The book is full of contempt for fraudulence, but it isn’t nihilistic. Under all the snarling satire, there’s a real plea for honesty, listening, embodiment, and moral wakefulness. Even the title starts to feel right in that context. So much here is about substitutions: synthetic feeling for feeling, performance for conviction, algorithm for conscience, spectacle for life. And beneath the book’s wild surfaces, I felt a sincere grief over what gets lost when we accept the fake thing as enough.

Realistic Meat Substitute wants to scrape, taunt, lament, and sing, sometimes all at once. That won’t be for everyone, but for readers drawn to politically charged poetry, surreal imagery, beat-inflected verbal riffing, and work that wrestles openly with the psychic junkyard of contemporary life, I think this book has real bite and real feeling. It left me unsettled, impressed, and more moved than I expected. I’d recommend it most to readers who like their poetry feral, intelligent, and unafraid of mess.

Pages: 63 | ISBN : 978-1917272131