Book of poems by Bob Herz concerning the tines in which we live, focusing in the violence of the cities and the loss of humanity by the people who live there.
From the introduction by Stephen Kuusisto:
"The poems here are unflinching, shrewd, by turns achingly beautiful and wise. They don't falsify experience with a promise of insistent order, as did
Eliot who thought Joyce had managed a paradoxical mythic structure for formlessness. Herz has the clarity to say perhaps there's really no such
thing but like Breton he can say "beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all."