First of all I will make it clear that my present state of mind is not fit to tackle the complexities of your work; in trying to get a hold of whatever is going on inside my own mind I am doing what it seems to be telling me to, which at this moment is to NOT SLEEP. So here I sit, at 3:09 a.m. my time, lost in my own dense woods and yet feeling compelled to attempt some insight regarding a piece of the wonderfulness that you regularly spew.
Despite my lack of clarity in regards to my own inner processes, the device that you are using of late is not lost on me; each of these conversations consists of two poems: the one within parentheses and the one without. At first, read together, they are somewhat incomprehensible. Read separately, each is whole and simple albeit haunting. Read together a second time, they mesh quite oddly but form a more intriguing piece that shimmers with new found complexity. A simple device, but put to use quite ingeniously.
I find that as I get older, matters of insanity seem less and less of a mystery; real things make less sense and illogical things seem more agreeable. And each time I come back to your work, it makes more sense. Here, I can see method to your madness. I doubt I could tell you anything new about your work; your nuances are spontaneous but not accidental, and I think there is meaning in all of it, although much of it is lost on the rest of us. You seem to have a better grip on the lightening that every writer tries to grab hold of.
Here I have wrestled out a lengthy comment and still am not satisfied, but I fear I must stop before I veer off into nonsense (or at least what I think of as nonsense...at this hour normal things seem odd and odd things seem normal). I recognize, and once again am a tad stunned by, the lovely things you are able to communicate. The best I can offer is to try and communicate my own appreciation.