- This is a prose poem. What makes a prose poem? Fuck all if I know. I wish I did. What makes a prose poem not just prose? Ah, the mysteries of life.

- I love that last line

- I enjoy the repetition of "My daughter is not dead. My daughter is not dead." That is where the intent of the poem starts to hit home for me emotionally - but geez, from a logical perspective, this narrator has had like, everyone die around him.

- Personally, if I were writing this poem, there is a lot I would cut out. I am a writer who is of the persuasion that, in published/polished writing, as many non-essential and/or redundant words should be eliminated as possible. However, if the writer is deliberately attempting to create a certain type of voice with his wordiness, then I can understand it - I suppose I'm saying that if so, that voice doesn't really do much to augment the poem for me.

- Seriously, though, that ending just kills it.

- There are two other poems in this set, A Theory of Rocks and A Theory of Flight. I haven't read Rocks but Flight strikes me as a tighter poem that goes better with its title; this one could almost be called "A Theory of Light/Sight." But maybe he didn't want it to rhyme. Noise really only comes up in the mid-part.

What do you guys think?