The title poem, "Ballistics" starts thusly:
When I came across the high-speed photograph
of a bullet that had just pierced a book--
the pages exploding with the velocity--
I forgot all about the marvels of photography
and began to wonder which book
the photographer had selected for the shot.
Leave it to Collins to get you thinking about which books you'd like to see pierced by the impact of a bullet! (I can think of quite a few that I had had great expectations for, but upon reading, found to be as dull as dirt!)
Collins decides upon a book by another poet, a man who is full of literary affectation ("that special poet's hat he loves to wear"). In three short stanzas we realize that Collins has no use for pedestrian poets.
Ballistics, the collection, is a bit hard on other poets, as also seen in, "The Poems of Others."
Just his morning, one approached me like a possum,
snout twitching, impossible to ignore.
Another looked out of the water at me like an otter.
Ballistics seems to display a little less humor and a bit more concern with mortality than his other collections--not that that's bad! All in all, it's a collection worth reading and absorbing.