The poetry of Robin Blaser has not an ounce of unintended reluctance (unlike my own verse); he reminds me of poetry's effect: the adherence to change, to reconstructing the anatomy of my own heart--musculature, flow, cage.

I am about to explore the concept of eternal return (coined by Nietzsche) as it applies to Blaser, as he references it in his works, the expansive collected poems entitled The Holy Forest.

I am, in other words, preparing for my Masters thesis. Let the exhilaration and exhaustion, the verbosity and self-doubt begin.