“Systematic Derangements” takes its title from French Symbolist poet Arthur Rimbaud’s famous written imperative for himself: “a systematic derangement of the senses.” From living a life in my late adolescence (and even later) on this edge, the scattershot narratives of this book coalesce into a composite picture of a kind of visionary America. Rimbaud was a true punk, as were me and my friends. “A Poet in Center City” takes the “Symbolist punk” mode one step further— put into a specific, formalized gestalt (the Philly Free School), lyricism and decadence, “Chimes” and “Systematic Derangements” collide and do battle. The center portion of “A Poet in Center City,” about the Free School, gets the best of both lyrical epiphany and sensory derangement. In a way, it seems to conclude that the Philly Free School is the culmination of my entire young life up to that point; even more than my relationship (written about elsewhere) with Mary Harju and Abby Heller-Burnham. It is symptomatic of the autobiographical syndrome that “A Poet in Center City” remains unfinished; about to turn thirty-seven, my life is still a work in progress.