A quintessentially British poet, whose Britishness is his downfall. He's got a sprawling imagination, particularly in 'The Mechanical Body' and a dark grotesque vision. Fuller moves through form with so much ease that I would call it 'freedom verse', so that is delightful. 'Blackberries' is a fantastic poem too. I quite liked 'We must not the stillness', particularly the line:'Beauty is a translation'. Chef's kiss on that one I'm sure! Fuller's vision is Romantic, stuck in a Postmodern-world. Perhaps the intellectual resignation, 'a tree is in fact a tree', in one of his poems really effects the possibility of serenity, and sadly of sustainable impact. Fully aware of course of the environment he writes this collection in, this postmodernity also betrays his clearly great capacity in his effecting of themes and ideas. I feel and this is purely conjecture, Fuller's weakness is that he cannot commit to the Romantic-side of him. He is, ironically, stuck in the 'Bog' (another poem) of intellectual rigour that he never fully rises to embrace the ways the 'Tendrils' of his imagination seem to hint towards to a reader. Perhaps, I need to read more contemporary poetry, but my take-away is that Fuller is definitely a poet worth reading, despite the frustrating potential that is sacrificed for mundanity.