Upon first inspection, Nude Siren is a slam-dance of cubism, language writing, and American surrealism, a secret language spoken between friends with both knowing there's no need for a decoder ring, because the words can mean anything and everything. Nude Siren is a walk through a closet of curiosities, skeletons, and almanacs. Richards' images are astounding, the diary of a Picasso painting with open pages, or a naturalistic photograph of complete and perfect nonsense. The depth of originality is astounding, the freshness of language and the secrets therein that keep the reader on his or her toes.

Even if the immediate focus is on the odd originality of the language, Nude Siren doesn't waste a single word or breath. The way Richards pairs surrealism with imagism, a lack of ornamentation, and a pacing of metered breath, creates an H.D. meets Appolinaire, something truly wonderful and smart. As the oddity builds, the occasional moment of complete lyric and narrative clarity draws attention like a torch and violin coming from a bass darkness. It flicks the moment of importance to live, without any sort of heavy hand.

The poems are a collection in the sense of a menagerie, a Santa's Village set out on a poet's table with abstraction for snow. ( )