I hated this book. More than half the time I would finish a poem or a section and throw up my hands in disgust. The whole conceit is masturbatory, most of the poems are a series of descending sounds linked together, and the format is useless.
That is to say, I can't agree with his project's motivation at any point.
Yenser is obviously an accomplished writer but his aesthetic is so markedly incompatible with my own that it was essentially impossible for me to appreciate his skill and his apparent wit came off alternately self-satisfied and childish.