Dean Blehert has had several books of his poems published, most notably his book of parodies: "Please, Lord, Make Me a Famous Poet or at Least Less Fat." This latest book, "Blank Pages," consists of 256 linked poems about various manifestations of blankness in our lives. This began when a fellow-poet gave him a book of 256 blank pages. He filled the book with poems about blank things—and such blanknesses as the alleged blank slate of a newborn child; the emptiness of barbershop mirrors reflecting each other; the eyes of lovers doing the same thing; the extent to which any creativity requires an ability to become comfortable with emptiness; the effect of a snowfall; the blankness of a serial killer's eyes; of political rhetoric. The poems are rich in wordplay, manage to say surprising things in surprising ways and to make a moving drama out of the nimble leaping of ideas—and often they are funny. The poems are also annotated (Blehert says he likes to insult your intelligence). Fortunately, the notes are also often funny and insightful. Though many devices of poetry, ancient and current, put in appearances, the book is mainly a long conversation—yours with, among others, yourself—but also, of course, with the author, who really is just a bright guy who likes to talk. But his joy in talking is contagious.