At once both luminous and surreal, Jack Bowman's poetry leads an urgent mission from the freeways of Los Angeles to the ocean depths of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge where Cousteau's Calypso lies anchored. Hawaiian shirts and neon beer signs compete with Patsy Cline on the jukebox, and faceless commuters pop anti-depressants like neurocandy while a lone child in the park silently lip-syncs the nightsongs of a million dragonflies.