I celebrated being half-way through my Goodreads challenge by reading David Kirby's "get up, please", another stellar collection of humorous, erudite constellations that combine rock-and-roll, the blues, philosophy, divergent quotes that reveal themselves as whatever the plural of mot juste is, and the poet's great and mythic optimism. If on,y there were an elixir de Kirby, a champagne or cognac that I could drink so that I might believe these clothes will reek deliciously of sex once more. I know this. While I was reading Nematodes, the second to last last poem, I kept hoping the last section of poems would unfold like a dozen centerfolds at the end. And I've promised myself a vacation to Gnürszk later this summer.