I don't know if I should mention this, but entre nous, I've been working my way through a huge (and hugely entertaining) manuscript of poems by the inimitable Mark Young.  Just tripped over this piece:


Today the
postman brought
me Tom
Beckett. Too
tall to fit
through the
door so I’ve
left his physical
self outside
as a kind of
toTom pole
& let his
spirit run
free to keep
me company.

This book is going to be an event.  Not because it made a reference or two to me but because it is all over the place in terms of its range of reference and its witty engagements with the world.  Just to give you a sense of its scale, I have read around 250 pages and am not even halfway through this noble beast of a book.  And I couldn't be happier.  I want to finish reading it and yet I don't.  It's that good.