Will Alexander’s poetry is asynchronic. Entering the hyperspace of his work means leaving the temporal horizon of my daily life, contained by appointments and schedules, news, birthdays, and the mandatory background of the broad mass of post-confessional lyric poetry. Time and space are distended and expanded, warped and whooped: it’s as immediate and palpable an effect as going to the planetarium and looking up (but without the tethering narrative of an educational voice-over).