my stomach was in disarray -- I called my editor at five in the morning and said I cannot writea review for this kind of book. where the father leavesand the daughter grows up alone. I know that kind of book already, it isa weed around my ribs. I take it out on my mother… Continue reading poem: book review
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 