Mary Melfi's work appears unclassifiable. There are surrealist fireworks, gnostic philosophising, black and white humour, an absurdist appreciation of the process of existence. Hers is not one voice, but rather a number of voices organised in a modern fugue: a counterpoint to its own cantus firmus. "Swordfishes, swordsmen too, are equipped / to get along in life / but I'm equipped to be a dancer on the stars. / Your love is my equipment." (Sword Dances).