This is, believe it not, billed as part VII of a series. It is a post-poem itself, a string of word-things sparyed at us: “…(T)he post-post poets write the real stuff, the basics, the poem without the baggage of meaning and connection, the liberated poem itself, stripped and streaking down the freeway, no claim on your time or attention longer than the time it takes to watch one run by. Was it human? Was it naked? Did it wave? Was it a prank? What college is it from? What were those word-things it sprayed at us?” Web Del Sol