Bailey examines the world around him from the inside, observing the minute to account for the vast. These poems are laid bare and free of ornament, revealing the hard-won wisdom just below the surface:
She was there, cooked for you. Helped clean
the mess you'd become from decades
spent on your father's ocean hauling lobsters
from its depths, gulping down the sea air.
Even when the booze was too much,
she knew you were more than the vomit
caked to your shirt. Less than confessions
made beneath the red summer moon.
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