This is a book of poetry, or at least, this is what the author claims, the reader will have to be the judge. The poems range across many themes and forms from the humorous to attempted profundity. Again, the reader will have to determine which is which. In that, the author wishes you luck. He can't tell either.The book is almost a journal of poetry written day by day in the chronological order of their creation. Read psychologically, they illuminate the author's changing state of mind over the period of about a year. It is a bumpy ride.This is a self-published book which also says a great deal about the author. One might argue he should have had the good grace to keep this poetry to himself. There are basically two divisions between poets: those who are amateurs and write poetry they keep to themselves and are happy with this state of affairs, and that rare breed, the published poet, whose work has been judged by others to be of such significance, that money should be spent in its publication and promotion.The world of the self-published poet is some grey netherworld, a triumph of hope over grim reality. Authors of numerous books of self-published poetry have almost entirely lost their grip on reality. Although hardly anyone will read their work (or even this description, for that matter), they persist.Let that be the epitaph of this book: he persisted.