year(s)
**this item is available for pre-order and will ship by 5/20**
year(s) is a collection of autobiographical poems written during lockdown. They are a reflection on isolation, anxiety, time lost, death, love, politics, and the unintentional levity found in the culmination of these experiences. Written from his home in Ventura, CA, Soto recalls conversations, feelings, and observations as the world unravelled in disease. The collection begins with a conversation with a co-worker about a new virus and spans the following two years until inevitably concluding in unforeseen tragedy. Each poem was written as a daily attempt to reach clarity in confusing times although this endeavor was inconclusive.
**this item is available for pre-order and will ship by 5/20**
year(s) is a collection of autobiographical poems written during lockdown. They are a reflection on isolation, anxiety, time lost, death, love, politics, and the unintentional levity found in the culmination of these experiences. Written from his home in Ventura, CA, Soto recalls conversations, feelings, and observations as the world unravelled in disease. The collection begins with a conversation with a co-worker about a new virus and spans the following two years until inevitably concluding in unforeseen tragedy. Each poem was written as a daily attempt to reach clarity in confusing times although this endeavor was inconclusive.
**this item is available for pre-order and will ship by 5/20**
year(s) is a collection of autobiographical poems written during lockdown. They are a reflection on isolation, anxiety, time lost, death, love, politics, and the unintentional levity found in the culmination of these experiences. Written from his home in Ventura, CA, Soto recalls conversations, feelings, and observations as the world unravelled in disease. The collection begins with a conversation with a co-worker about a new virus and spans the following two years until inevitably concluding in unforeseen tragedy. Each poem was written as a daily attempt to reach clarity in confusing times although this endeavor was inconclusive.
an excerpt
“…a parade
could march through the bedroom
a bomb/on the way
and this would make no difference to me
I’d be sleeping
sleeping with my eyes open/ and dimmed…”
-My Birthday This Year, year(s)