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"A book of temporally organized form that renounces time, that disassembles form. Demosthenes Agrafiotis' poetry argues, chafes, bristles, and unrelentingly chomps at the bit of its own constraint, as well as at every other human construct, linguistic or otherwise, that might serve as a convenient container for consciousness. ""now, 1/3"" is an extraction of sand from the hourglass… as if the sand weren't free to begin with. —Harold Abramowitz