A book you read sideways.
A book with lines full of caesura like pot holes.
With disco lyrics, classical allusion, secret gay slang.
A book that is two books.
A book full of boys dead or dying.
A book of spirituals, of a kind.
A book without titles.
A book with the detail of gossip, the burden of grief, the permanence of love.
A book in which the speaker looks bad as he realizes he has made mistakes.
A book in which the speaker accuses other people, perhaps in order to ultimately forgive them.
A book that believes in heaven.
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What a lovely looking book. And your response to it feels like its own poem.
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