This second book, by an absolute disaster of a poet, does not tell a story. Nor does it depict ways to escape sadness and its pangs. It won't benefit you in any manner. It will be utterly perilous to regard it as such. r.g. has used this book to lament, to simply grieve the loss of joy, to mourn the death of love in ways that caress hearts and singe tongues, that kiss lightnings and split thunders. Join him, only if you wish to wallow in melancholy...
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Poetry