In Christopher Cokinos' deliciously horrifying The Underneath, an unnerving ventriloquism occurs—narratives of abuse, abandonment, and assault are tucked into the folds of seemingly mundane curtains, trapped beneath ceilings, behind doors. Conversing with, and ultimately reinventing the compulsions of Rene Magritte (The Treachery of Images, et. al.), these poems filter surrealistic concerns through neuroscience, dream through allusion. In Cokinos' bizarro world, fear and vacuum cleaners belong on the same insidious list, and our circulatory system is comprised of desert fauna. In this way, the monsters of mythologies both invented and invoked are saddled with the roles of unlikely avatars, finally forced to confront their experiences with bodily trespass. The result is a frightening, exhilarating, and oddly cleansing wild ride. —Matthew Gavin Frank, author of The Mad Feast and Preparing the Ghost