A review by gsroney
My Index of Slightly Horrifying Knowledge by Paul Guest

4.0

“Which is to say I don't / recall a thing that I dreamed last night, / the color of anything, the tenebrous custard of clouds, / the water that fell in shapes / from the elm trees. Really, what I'm thinking / tonight is there is nothing / in all the flat world which would satisfy me. Not food and not love and no / Epicurean kink involving both / and in this I am trying to feel only / a little sad. Slightly broken. / Returnable, still, even to the ones I loved, / their darling, imperious airs, / their hair in careless garlands / announcing one more morning or one last.”