Wrath James White’s poems are red and wet love songs to a pillory, set to the beat of a flogging whip–the kind of sweet nothings Barker’s Cenobites would whisper.
“Mad Max: Fury Road level survival intensified by the worst Burning Man acid trip.”
“Guaranteed to give you and your potential lay the weirdest boners imaginable, lady or otherwise.”
“I’m an all-or-nothing kind of person, and when I become interested in something, I give it my all.”
“I don’t know if I am enraged or merely heart-broken by your piece.”