In lyric fury, Betsy Andrews aims at the heart of sickness within our ailing body politic. Cutting and brilliant, she addresses the "dragons" within the birds chased by us into extinction, writing toward the true monsters who plunder the planet for reasons selfish and banal beyond imagining. "Such is the pace of our fabric's unravel," she says, following our self-inflicted ecological traumas in generous lines of irresistible rhythm and sound. "Are we through yet with the analogy of the boiling toad?" she asks. Yes, we are, and Andrews turns the heat up high enough we can no longer deny what's happening around and to us.