Villanelles, fever dreams, and twilit ruminations

Have you ever felt as if you'd been strapped to an ice-cold stone table, futilely tearing at yard-long harpoons lodged deep in your own entrails? This book assumes that some readers know that sensation intimately - and that others, if they're honest, have felt enough of it to recognize themselves in its description.

What follows is not metaphor softened into safety, nor anguish repackaged as uplift. These pages confront existential anxiety, bodily dread, and the quiet savagery of consciousne...