Aphoria is an antiquated term synonymous with barren, specifically regarding female reproduction.
Aphoria is made of three sections ("We Gather At Night," "The City Salutes Itself," and "I Live Here Now"), each section comprised of poems titled "( )" (which, to this mathy reader, seems a softened way of saying null set).
What complicates Aphoria is its lack of specificity: the only proper noun in the book is "Polaroid," which lends the book a terseness, a withholding of much other than hints, intimations-a technique that makes following whatever's happening difficult.
There is dissatisfaction with arbitrariness, relativism and aphoria but there is no challenge to the ungroundedness of grounds.
Is the furthest thinking only decentring, undecidability, rupture, limbo, aphoria, flux?
Modernist enterprise of liberation proved to be a refined slavery of ideological web whereas postmodernist liberation resulted in aphoria.