I have absolutely no idea what the poems in this book are saying. None. The words are a mish-mash of sound, of meaning, of movement, and when they are combined together, for the most part they make no literal sense. And yet, their sound, their meaning, and their movement create these fantastic pictures that leave you puzzled and strangely contemplative at the same time. You know
these poems are saying something, and suddenly you feel like you're on a peyote-fueld quest to try to uncover what that something is, either for you or for the poet.
These poems remind me of performance art, or of modern dance or modern painting/sculpture. There are jazzy, beat poetry elements in here, and there is surrealism in spades. There is a tone that modulates between sadness, wistfulness, and rage, and those tones often shift not only from poem to poem, but within a single poem. Honestly, I don't understand what I read. But I do understand and appreciate the cadence, the expression, and the modern art quality of these poems. There is a certain quality here that is remarkably similar to how I feel when I leave an art museum--like I've just been exposed to something that is outside of my realm of comprehension, but also very viscerally and innately human.