From the outset, Myna Wallin's latest book of poetry seems a little naughty. Even the book's name, A Thousand Profane Pieces, is suggestively dirty. As I read, I couldn’t help but feel that a hidden Myna Wallin was waiting to jump out from the shadows and scare the bejesus out of me. The front cover illustration of a masked and horned female reveller says it all: Wallin is here to make a scene with this debut collection of poetry, and in spite of the personalized torment lurking in many of her pieces, she presents a rather penetrating perspective that is regrettably absent in much of today's poetry.

In poems like “mid life crisis in Fort Lauderdale,” Wallin takes to the proverbial scalpel right away and cuts deep. She aptly and accurately captures that moment of mortal reckoning we all must face, that recognition of youth 'slipping away':

          It's time for Botox but I can't make the leap
            from dabbing on makeup to freezing
            muscles, lines of experience
            like lines of a poem I refuse
            to erase

Although Wallin is a far cry from a withering old maid, her occasional allusions to old age, cats and enameled teacups do tend to befuddle her tone somewhat. Nevertheless, there are plenty of intriguing, sexually explicit images in this book to keep the senses titillated. Amidst all the saturnalia, there is also a balanced feminist helping, but not too much. At least, not enough to alienate a male readership. In “Trophy Poets” and “This is My Beer Commercial,” Wallin turns the tables on stereotypes in a clever and humorous fashion, envisioning alternate dimensions where “blondes are out; thinkers are in” and “the men are bringing the women cold beers, in between diving and flexing.”

Alternate universes aside, Wallin's insecurities weigh heavily on the page, and one senses that a great deal of it arises from a desire to appease others, particularly lovers (“...back to the mirror to guess what she's worth”). But a ray of hope in transcending these agonies shines through now and then; for instance, in pieces such as “Klezmer Music on Christmas Eve,” Wallin vows to never again expose herself to the “taut misery” of a singles event and its earnest buffet of cynical voices.

The final section of the book, entitled “Aerial View,” reveals a culmination of the reflective work undertaken in earlier pieces like “The Self-Improvement Revolution,” where Wallin lists her brushes with esoteric practices like lucid dreaming, Kabbalah, and past-life regression. Having been through all that, she resurfaces in the waning pages of her collection with poems dedicated to others and concludes with the reassuringly titled “Transcendence.” The elusive promise that this word conjures, however, ends up wilting like the daisies and tulips mentioned in the poem, falling into morning cereal bowls, soggy, with the aftertaste of “hope in every mouthful.”

Perhaps the greatest fault of Wallin’s A Thousand Profane Pieces is the hints of regret and pathos that continually stain these poems, even when the author is attempting to be cheerful. Nevertheless, sometimes the cynicism of the darker corners within others can feed us, and A Thousand Profane Pieces is one such 'can't miss' instance. Delve within and enjoy!