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If poetry is a veil of words we draw across our meaning, so that we may sit upon our pedestalled thrones and ascribe to our art importance relative to the effort others spend in attempting to decipher it, then this is a very important work. Just not important to me. I read it once through quite quickly, immediately detecting that aroma of literary obfuscatory snobbery, but not detecting anything aesthetically compelling enough to warrant further contemplation. Apologies to those who relish the practice of obfuscation.

Tangential is a poet's word to be brandished in unexpected circumstances such as moonscapes tangential to the bellicosity of my gamekeeper's amalgamated heart. The linguistic twerking of poets Lathered in the sweat of stretching meaning across unrequited canyons eviscerated of understanding is tangential yet ob-LIG'-atory to the languid luminosity, torqued empty socket of an unsolilloquied reader. Forgive us, readers. We are tangential at best.

One more future! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.