Gerard Sarnat’s electric third collection 17s consists entirely of poems, stanzas or lines of exactly 17 syllables. Though these novel uniquely American haiku are cleanly cauterized with a physician's unblinking eye and unflinching hand, each piece is dangerously out of control. It is a brave poet who oscillates between emotional tensions forged as a 17 year-old and what’s envisioned in three years when his flesh turns a mirror image 71. Gerry fancies phrases like "demotically sonorous" in mischievous conversation, but can alternate spare verse that’s simple, sad, sweet and best of all true with a wordsmith's avuncular glee. On occasion he wields a terrible swift scalpel twisted between our ribs to touch our hearts about the plight of the neglected. Adding spicy personae to his five generational love story, lots of playful humor and sex come out on Sarnat's landscapes: his unique roguish winking intonations are a treat should you have a chance to hear him read.