I can't believe the reviews I'm reading. This...this is what passes as good poetry? It's not poetry but rather some arrogant, self-glorifying, shallow junior-high kid's diary. "Dear Diary, Raven is sad. So sad. Um....and dark. Yeah, that's it. I'm really, really, really, dark. So sad and dark. I'm so sensitive that life affects me more than it does other people. They just can't understand what deep, sensitive people like me and my readers go through..." Good God, save me from this shallow, poorly written drivel. How can you reviewers really read serious living poets like Paul Muldoon, Christian Bok, Seamus Heany, Billy Collins, Alicia Ostriker, C. K. Williams, and so many others who are really producing work that illuminates and transcends and still call at this confessional tripe by the sacred name of poetry. I'm just dumbfounded. I can actually feel the intelligence being sucked out of my brain as read a Raven "poem" featured on the website about being "haunted" by memories of an ex. Hideously clunky, devoid of anything new, entirely confessional and specific to the author. It is as if it were written by a high school freshman.