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Title: I think of all the people lost inside you
Review: No, this is not The Waste Land, but I've noticed that people who don't even like poems can't help but like this collection, even if they only like the ones with penises in them. Really, Brautigan's poetry is some of the only poetry that doesn't lie to itself, acknowledging both the author's and the medium's weak points, yet still conveying honest insight through endearing prose, with images that fall apart the second you touch them, leaving you with a feeling of naustalgia; this, I think, is the appeal of Brautigan, and while he might not be a master on the terms of Ezra Pound, he is great on his own terms, and for those that don't know (or care) who the hell Ezra Pound is.
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