One of troubador/flaneur Chris Leo's claims to fame is that he holds the highest score on the rigorous New York City Tour Guide Exam. He's done a lot of walking in his days. Over the past decade, dividing his time between Manhattan and Cupra Marittima, Italy, the walking has amounted to a gamut of lyric texts reflecting his follies and diversions along the way in an apropos hodgepodge of formats. From his novels
White Pigeons
and
57 Octaves
, which come with accompanying music and drawings, to his polylingual children's book
Coomoococklemungmung
, illustrated by Buenos Aires-based artist Francesca Massai, to albums with his word-burdened bands The Van Pelt, The Lapse and Vague Angels, the delivery is always the same: cat's paw on a very big mouse. Leo's fourth book,
Feathers Like Leather
, is a collection of short stories, poems and etymologies, each a raw and urgent account of his life abroad—even in his own hometown. From obsessive language dissection to personal sexual questionings, Leo lends a relentless charm to his writing that emanates from the page as if it's being sung.