With a few paint cracks in the cover, my autographed copy of Death by Comb is in excellent, used condition. To me, it looks worn and ragged, but I’m sure no one else would even give it a second thought. I have carried this book on my person daily since I acquired it a week ago. It has moved with me from room-to-room as I complete my daily tasks. You never know when you’ll have a spare second to read. I don’t even break the spine on my books, but that’s another story. This story (review) is about my week on Camari Carter’s journey. Plant (a haiku)  the living room plant forgotten, dry, and withered we are much alike Not that this has anything to do with the content of her work, but I didn’t like the cover art. By the time I had held a book in my hand, I had already heard her perform some of her poetry and had a very brief chat with her. This cover art was not her. I mean, yes, it is a picture of her. But …