Poetry. Literary Nonfiction. Hybrid Genre. FREE BOAT: COLLECTED LIES AND LOVE POEMS selects from a sequence of sonnets written from 2008-2015. Reed, the author of five previous books (three novels and two stunts) lends his voice and eclectic abilities to this singular work, which, in addition to being a book of sonnets, is part love letter, part literary ode, and part delusion. Evolving the classical sonnet, a form which still captures our spirits, Reed summons our contemporary yearning: sugar…
Poetry. Literary Nonfiction. Hybrid Genre. FREE BOAT: COLLECTED LIES AND LOVE POEMS selects from a sequence of sonnets written from 2008-2015. Reed, the author of five previous books (three novels and two stunts) lends his voice and eclectic abilities to this singular work, which, in addition to being a book of sonnets, is part love letter, part literary ode, and part delusion.
Evolving the classical sonnet, a form which still captures our spirits, Reed summons our contemporary yearning: sugar sweet to splash of acid. Come to me, writes Reed in sonnet #6, like tomorrow to a child. Sonnet #41, in contrast, offers the lyrical confession, All I want to do is stab people. With his plaintive lines, Reed gives expression to the inner ghost of the Twenty-First Century; sonnet #65, a valentine, wonders Momma, are there other wooden children?
Poetry. Literary Nonfiction. Hybrid Genre. FREE BOAT: COLLECTED LIES AND LOVE POEMS selects from a sequence of sonnets written from 2008-2015. Reed, the author of five previous books (three novels and two stunts) lends his voice and eclectic abilities to this singular work, which, in addition to being a book of sonnets, is part love letter, part literary ode, and part delusion.
Evolving the classical sonnet, a form which still captures our spirits, Reed summons our contemporary yearning: sugar sweet to splash of acid. Come to me, writes Reed in sonnet #6, like tomorrow to a child. Sonnet #41, in contrast, offers the lyrical confession, All I want to do is stab people. With his plaintive lines, Reed gives expression to the inner ghost of the Twenty-First Century; sonnet #65, a valentine, wonders Momma, are there other wooden children?
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