Very well written!

This is wild in the best sense of the word. It doesn’t behave, and that’s exactly why it has power. The whole piece feels like a mind refusing containment, dragging “a heap of coal,”“the muddy hallway,”“the screen is the skin of God,”“nails of meaning,”“Tsvetaeva’s wedge,”“Mayakovsky’s bass,” and that whole furnace of voice through one long spiritual and artistic emergency. It reads like invocation, breakdown, manifesto, prayer, and threat all at once.

What makes it more than chaos is the conviction behind it. You keep returning to the same pressure points, voice, silence, witness, light, core of pain, eternity, and by the time it reaches that last movement, back in the room, back in the ash, window, housecoat, the tenderness hits harder because it has survived all that violence. The final whisper, “Well, now — you aren't afraid of anything, right?” changes the whole temperature. Under all the fury and rupture, something fiercely protective was there the whole time. That turn is strong. It gives the poem a human pulse inside all its fire.