The Modern Novel

First paragraph: ten sentences,
All but two without verbs,
And the last a run-on freight train
Of absolute phrases without an engine,
That is,
A main clause.
Should I care? I don't.
I'm no pedant, and the author,
Widely known and respected,
Tops many a reading syllabus.
Lord only knows--those of us
Who wallow in verse for most of our lives
Trample rules of grammar in a rush to pluck
Our lyrical posies.
It's a commonplace fact.
And yet it disturbs me
On some vascular level
To get pummeled by highbrow descriptive shells
Fired off in a single flashy volley
So soon in a thickset paperback.
I guess many readers need that snazzy jolt
Of pyrotechnics right up front
To commit to the extended program.
What about the plump, multiphase,
Proustian blocks of text that follow?
I'm coming to those.