What a strange turn. It reminded me of Sorrentino, though I fear this lacked cubist construction. The early part of the book appears concerned with levels and vitality of imagination. I did reflect on that at length, though without success as to ascertain my own development. Then perpetually at an oblong angle remain Persephone. Hail the perennial. Dissemination!

These pieces keep a proximity to the earth, as such. Doctor and farmer are but two of the roles which occupy WCW. Decomposition earns its foreground, astride the wasted seed.

Matters then become abstracted and elongated into emotional whispers. Fidelity and the flesh harken to a Homeric shore. Williams notes each position but his prior wounds are never forgotten. Excerpts of letters from Pound, Stevens and HD illuminate while acting as scar tissue.

Memory remains a biological phenomenon, removed from the brocaded currency of writing-in-itself. I enjoyed these pieces, much mead for a thirsty soul. ( )