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This web of poems of longing digs within raw character: Orpheus and Mr. Lucky in slow tango as the heart spins on a table under hot lamplight. These are not love poems but reflection upon reflection of what we suffer lovingly. Pearlman writes into and out of a language of drama and wry belief. His poems are turbulent contemplations sources of prayer and grit and flinging the crutch into the sky. They join the inner salt of need with a sweet leaven of hope redeemed in the midnight hour.