Rich Owens's second book of the year, No Class, was published by Keston Sutherland and Andrea Brady's legendary Barque Press. This represents some of Owen's most incendiary work to date: massive, raging swells of unrest (in the best possible way!)—a perfect counterpoint to the tightly wound stanzas of Clutch. He sent me the title poem in an email sometime last year, and I was convinced that his life was in shambles. Turns out, he's simply paying attention! If you're not acquainted with Owens's work, this is the place to start. Get it here.
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