These poems explore the idea that poetry is the erotic minimalism of whispering to language through welcoming those who come from the visionary future. But for the poet to achieve this they need to travel in the field of the disasters of history and gather dead words, like the blind person who gathers broken glass by cutting their fingers. From this perspective writing poems is always writing a single poem, the one we can never write. As the gatherer of dead words and the whisperer of language all the poet can do is keep repeating this failure.
