I was so disappointed in Tony Hoagland's Donkey Gospel. I had loved What Narcissism Means to Me so, so much. This book seems to have been written by a different person -- someone drab and dreary and literal. No panache. No crackle. No wry humor.
It took me forever to read this slim volume because I maybe read a poem a week. A few a liked more than others. But basically the book is rather blah.