Society is the only sin we committed. Churches built to be abandoned. Books clogged the library
with thought. The beautiful
gathered in groups of self-sacrifice: they know who they are and flaunt it. Why so many bird
songs go unrecorded,
there’s too much music, too many chants for the crowd of voices. Not listening, we want to hear.
Review by Jacob Moran
How this poem is structured is enticing, playing into the content of the poem with so much ease you almost overlook how meticulously built it is.