An inspirational, frantic, nonintellectual stream of consciousness in the vein of Edgar Allan Poe, with a little Jack Kerouac, Mark Twain, or whoever, whatever the inspirations are, thrown into the pot (my poetry should come foremost) as someone said that I have a way with words, you will judge this emotional, romantic, nondetailed collection of poems for yourself, which was written for the emotional and esoteric-minded. I dont screw around with the nuts and bolts and mechanics of life; I just dream, and I just feel, so go ahead and lose yourself for at least a short while.