Volume II

These poems were written in heat ? the kind that exposes, the kind that transforms, the kind that leaves a mark whether you meant it to or not. Fire doesn't ask permission. It doesn't negotiate. It makes things burn, and in the burning, it shows what was real all along.

If you're holding this book, you're stepping into the bright, uncomfortable center of the work. Read these pages the way you'd watch a controlled blaze: with respect, with attention, and with the understanding that some things have to burn before they can become anything worth keeping.