Virgogray Press is proud to release a new collection of poetry by the dark knight himself, Irish poet and artist phenom, Michael McAloran. This new work brings together another tome of McAloran’s own brand of the dark night of the soul repudiated throughout 34 pages of gritty, succinct poetry that spirals into the depths of death, social and personal distortions and vivid portraits of obscurity. “Cold Colours,” one of the opening poems in the book, is a perfect example of this:

Shadowy nocturne 
skull split open 
garlands upon the tongue
protruding
excrement in the veins exposed 
blood shadow
the skin stretched taut 
rolls the emptiness of 
unspeakable sound 
my existence in a vice of 
cold colours
ablaze 
in the night

 In a world where the want of dark and gloomy poetry has become hackneyed, campy and mundane, Michael McAloran offers something with a genuine brilliance (as scary as that thought might be to the sensitive and empathic reader) that is worth the inclusion to the Virgogray library.  Indeed, if you haven’t read any works by this prolific writer and painter, you will see his many volumes spun out by publishers like Calliope Nerve, Erbacce Press and a myriad of internet and print publications. We are not the first to stumble upon the quill of Michael McAloran, nor are we likely to be the last. We do, however, think this a fitting collection to new readers of McAloran’s work that comes together in a quaint and lurid package, wrapped with an original painting by the poet himself. 34 pages. $7.