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Title: it's a clean sweep...
Review: I read all three of Ward's books--they were forced on me, to tell the truth, and I had an hour waiting at a train station, so now I can give them back and say I've read them. Poor Pablo Neruda. So many people have probably ripped him off, and here's another. The despair was mine at reading these poems, which cxome across more as the slithering bombast of a bar snake who's looking to slip something in your drink than love poems. That would of been cool had I thought Ward was going for that effect, but no. Ward thinks he's writing love poems, and whether they're wonder twins or other junk, he's not doing much that's reinventing the love poem.
