The Apocalyptic Mannequin begins with pure fire. Eat the Breath of the Apocalypse is such an intense opening that builds with every stanza and explodes at the bottom of the page. The momentum never really lets up from there.
Wytovich lays about 90 short works in front of us, each one as unflinching as the last. I felt as though I should be taking the time to savor each poem, but I couldn’t. Each vignette, each picture of a world gone to shit and the human reactions and consequences leads seamlessly to the next and the reader is tirelessly dragged along.
One thing that makes this one different than the collection I previously read is the thematic element of the apocalyptic literature. This is approached in a myriad of different ways with the one commonality being rawness. The imagery is incredibly vivid and draws on all the senses. A couple examples…

“Collapsed eyeballs dropped like candle wax on the tables.” – from To Bear Witness

“The first blast popped my ear drum, it’s sound like
gunfire in my head; I didn’t open my eyes for three days,
couldn’t breathe without wondering if that air would be my last,
if the taste of metal would ever leave my mouth.” – from Greetings From the New World

It’s a bleak picture, to be sure, but oddly comforting in commiseration. Part of me would love to share a list of favorites, but it’s not quite that simple. When you read an anthology of short stories, even a themed one, you can recommend preferred stories outside their context. This book, however, is one that begs to be read from cover to cover, and I suspect that you might find it as difficult to stop as I did.