In soft-skinned, Waverly Vernon tears away the gauze of myth to reveal the raw pulse beneath human faith, decay, and desire.
These poems dissect the fragile arrogance of believing ourselves divine, dragging theology, mortality, and meaning into the same dim light and forcing them to coexist. From the certainty of decomposition to the quiet dignity of a flower's final days, the collection moves through dirt and dust, through the false comfort of gods and the truth of biology.
It asks what remains when our symbols rot, when holiness loses its shine, when the body becomes both offering and aftermath.
But soft-skinned isn't merely an autopsy; it's a reclamation. Vernon writes toward what endures without transcendence: moss, children, roots, memory, the unashamed pulse of life itself. These poems refuse the lie of cruelty in nature and the myth of purpose in pain.
They honor the ordinary holiness of decomposition, the wild honesty of survival. In their refusal to flinch, they find something close to reverence, not for heaven, but for the dirt that feeds what blooms next.