With limericks and haiku, dialogue and visual forms, and, simply, more longer, meaty-looking poems, this promises to be a good deal more substantial than Livingston's previous books of verse. Unfortunately, in the midst of this new expansiveness, Livingston's ideas are as relentlessly banal as ever. There are verses about ""Lady Moon"" and ""Mother Wave,"" one poem shaped like a Christmas tree, and another that takes twelve lines to make an extended (and muddled) comparison between October and a ""golden girl."" Livingston relies overmuch on our willingness to share her egocentric perspective--as when cows having their picture taken are exhorted to ""Look to my lens before I am forever gone"" or when a petulant litany ends with the supposedly empathic ""The trouble is no one appreciates me."" The trouble is, there just isn't much to appreciate. . . not one really good or memorable poem out of the whole thirty-eight.