I don't know how much I'm "collaborating" with the poems but I like how they achieve an openness while still being very deliberate. As in Angle of Yaw the "I" is complicated by a multivocality; the poems seem to interrupt themselves:
A cry goes up for plain languageAll the poems (if you think of them as individual poems; you could think of them as stanzas or chunks of a long poem) have this shape; there are two per page. Certain clauses/phrases are repeated throughout (such as "Night-vision green"), which has an effect like a skipping record.
In identical cities. Zukofsky appears in my dreams
Selling knives. Each exhibit is a failed futurity
A star survived by its own light. Glass anthers
Confuse bees. Is that pornography? Yes, but
But nothing. Come to reference. A mode of undress
Equal to fascism becomes obligatory
In identical cities. Did I say that already? Did I say
The stranglehold of perspective must be shaken off
John read this same section and read the fractured language as a tired imitative fallacy type thing (experience is fractured so language must be fractured, blah blah). I find that idea a little boring too, but I don't really read this as doing that, or at least not just that. It seems more an investigation into what else can be done with the line, almost a game, rather than an attempt to describe. Descriptions bore the pants off me. Games I like.
I've been thinking a little lately about what "line" means to people. (I posted a comment along these lines recently on Brian Foley's blog.) Like when the average person says "So and so writes great lines" -- do they mean the literal line from the left margin to the right margin, the unit of the lineated poem, or do they mean sentences? Most poems have sentences too. I think a feel for the line is very different from a talent for good stand-alone phrases or sentences.