That he's building a lens is as good a sign as any that I ought to get off my spare-time-storage-unit and get to work on mine.

Resumed reading Cannibal One. Spent most of the subway ride with Dustin Williamson's "Wood Money," which modifies Anselm's form of dark quips into something like ottava rima:

The oily name in lights The continual
unfolding total moment will leave your breathing,
totally shivered Terror in the Turkish coffee
a tongue in the Turkish bath Unleashed on
the range Chewing on the aria we mistook
for an aureole Even if it lead to some laughs
the dead thing in the living room created
an awkward situation when it recovered

Most stanzas play on at least one homonym (e.g. Turkish) and one mishearing/sound-similarity (e.g. aria / aureole). I get a little worn out by the bombardment, but I'm excited by the sly good nature that keeps coming back throughout the piece.

More to say about Cannibal later today; in case you hadn't noticed, a full-on transformation of the poetic landscape has been underway for a few years now and Cannibal leader Matt Henriksen is one of the movement's aldermen, fer sure. You could wait for the perfect bound books to show up, but as dizzying as the journals are now, why delay?