The title is that of a long poem by Jack Spicer, composed of short chapters, almost all of which are rendered here. Florence Pazzottu invites it in to the South Alpine village of La Pomme Chinoise (The Chinese Apple) (FID 2019), scattering it to the wind: written on black cardboard or loose sheets, interrupted by Australian admirer’s rock music, recited in turn by the inhabitants of the village who, in perfect harmony with the Californian’s poetry, add their grain of salt, fine or coarse.