Austin Segrest's second poetry collection is a deft exploration of adolescence and abuse. Memory is a natural balm and a method of defense. It is, perhaps, the only way to truly feel our lives. The myriad recollections, powerfully rendered by Segrest's tactile prose, form a mature and meticulous whole. A collection in the truest, most intentional sense.
Prudent references to myth never serve as barriers to entry. Though immersed in the history of its artform, the entire book is open, ready to talk plainly about pain and loss of innocence, without losing any of the nuance or talking down.
I really like the strategically-placed odes to Caravaggio's rendering of St. Paul on the road to Damascus. Segrest adds his own signature to the masterpiece—perfect pieces of art on top of a larger one.