Circadium, with its headline-size opening gambits playing reveille for its heady prose meditations (often in the form of short fictions), has the surface appearance of Conceptual art, wittily attacking issues of money, the market, the self and the spectacular "writing on the wall" in an echo-chamber of counterpointed themes. "While on behalf of this half of what halves us, we dress each thought in lesion. Nothing could be simpler." Disgust and alienation—classic resonances with a bygone literature of Nietzschean aphorism—gird these poems, lifting them beyond "New Sentence" poetry or the magical-realist version of a avant-gardism that a nostalgia for Surrealism has fostered. Circadium is hard but rewarding writing that updates a powerfully subversive strand of literature, one in which a rapier intellect guides the whiplash of form.