Joseph Lease' s Fire Season, composed in the heat of global and personal apocalypse, is one of the most intimate books I've ever encountered. " I'm writing inside death, I'm / in the room." Anyone who comes this close to death succumbs to its power to eradicate all pretense. Lease's language is simple, direct: " what is real / (maybe sunlight / (my mother's face." Words reappear like recurring dreams, brilliantly embodying Jack Spicer's dictum: "...
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Poetry