Description:

Film and painting in the 20th Century were successful in throwing off the shackles of the refined, pretty, and not-dangerous art that permeated so much of the art world before 1890. But surprisingly, in many ways poetry did not adequately follow in this trend and still has not to this day. The collection of poems in this book are intended to contribute to an outright end to the centuries of dainty, perfumed, unperturbed and unangry, less-than-abysmally-beautiful, bourgeoisie-approved poetry that we have been told for so long is what poetry is. What we are in our deepest sense is none of these. What we are, rather, is absolutely primal and open, like the earth millions of years before Homo sapiens. Each poem in this book is intended to be a description of the deepest part of us, which is neither good nor evil, right nor wrong, excited nor unexcited, sanitary nor non-burning. In our truest sense we are pornographic and nirvanic, savage and explosive—and these poems are a verbal illustration of our existence.