Prince Jhonny DeJesus’s review published on Letterboxd:
Askarian develops an intensely private language to obliquely come to grips with the public realm of his people, where they're from, where they're headed. In other words, beyond the typical visual signifiers of "poetry" (and there are plenty), this is poetic in the sense that it borrows an actual working method from poets (I was thinking of Symbolists, Surrealists, Eugenio Montale). The repeating motif of natural life growing out of civilization's discards--the cracked, abandoned cello with a beehive inside. Bees make honey, honey drips on a woman's breasts--the cycles of decay and regeneration? The rich symbolism hints at meaning, but more than anything, betrays a profound rigor of private significance, so that it's dreamlike but far from undisciplined.