I wanted to love this, and worry for my apparently less-than-poetic soul. Maybe there was too much buildup of "this is the most important poet you will read, this is "the image" guy"! Maybe it's that he was a doctor and I've worked with too many doctors who are in love with the sound of their own voice and I'm jaded. Some of the poems were delicate and felt perfect, some made me frustrated. Not nearly enough of them made me feel anything at all. So am I disappointed in the poems themselves? Or in the promise of some kind of poetic ideal. Not sure.