Innocenti chews up the uprooting of the 20th century, that is, he carries its encumbrance, its hunger for signification, thrusting himself into a rare linguistic work, which rummages through the human as if to suggest a remnant of serum, escaped from alienation. He is an uncomfortable poet, who yields nothing to formulae of effect or temptations of outcome. His continuous obstinate revival springs from outlooks of defeat, hurling us into a muscular corpus, which exasperates itself in order to tear itself away, from the medicaments, from the dictates of survival, for what little it does not hold back, alive (from Chiara Guarducci's preface).