(Suffering from) an Apartment Complex Kevin Zepper staple-bound. 22 pp. $7.00 Click above to buy securely from Paypal Or send check or money order. Please include this order form when sending check by mail, and add applicable shipping and handling fees. (If ordering from abroad, please contact Plan B Press for shipping rates.)

Kevin Zepper's second poetry book, (Suffering From) An Apartment Complex is an often humorous look at the experiences of a "lifer", one who has been in an apartment for longer than a year. The experiences with neighbors, the impermanency of "home" and the endless cycle of moving from box to box, place to place make this book relevant to all those who have experienced life outside of home-ownership. Window Seat By the south sliding balcony windows, you can hear rubber vulcan treads of trucks sailing east and west on 94 under white satellites dotting the night, whine of tires over road that never stops; giraffing lamps with bent necks watch over twilight semis until city limit lights, flicker, dim, disappear in rearview mirror. If you threw a regulation football very hard from our apartment it would bounce on the shoulder of 94, cars continue swooshing by, sounds increasing in pitch, lowering in volume. Solitaire and solitary, singling out one lone vehicle through restless, humid summer evening and dream about lone drivers clipping along with lights focused on strobing yellow dashes that divide the slow going, the fast moving, those desiring exit. The thermos of molasses-brown coffee rides shotgun with thick mug on the passenger floor mat, keeping driver company along with the crisp signal of the radio. Anticipation of destination beyond the 94 road, somewhere out there, hops along a dotting map, and then, temporarily toward home. I hear them go by nightly, earthbound astronaughts, landlubbing sailors, rolling over the roiling, patterned earth, pulling moonlight in overhead, a wide-brimmed hat, moving, searching for port.