Publisher's Synopsis
For so long, poetry has been imagined to be an art for the dignified.
Those with a vast knowledge of expressive words.
Ramblings that are meant to make one feel enlightened, when really, feelings themselves are such confusing f*cking things. Like, why can't poetry just be humorous little spurts that may or may not mean something, and it doesn't matter either way? F*ck putting rules on creativity. Here's a book that has fun with words in an absolutely and totally mature way that says absolutely nothing about the poet's inner personality.
