Ian Monk's 14 × 14, here translated from the original French by Philip Terry and the author, is a collection of fourteen poems, interspersed with interludes, all of them fit between a prelude and coda-a sort of mille-feuille made with alternating layers of the lost and regained purity of love and the world's brutally intimate indifference. Here for example why not while waiting for elsewhere and having been somewhere else too just recently in this ascent straight towards wherever and anyhow leading to needful things to fill in the time your brains too or what's left of them dunno as for me what's on the box tonight spare a dime and what about going to a museum or the opera lol?