This is the first collection of the author’s poetry, containing work dating back to his adolescence to the present. The reader will find among these pages both incoherent rants against war and cloying sentiments on love, on loneliness, as well as on the singular company, which the heart of a lover yearns for but seldom finds. Any trained eye in the art of poetry shall find this collection queer at many places and stultifyingly absurd at others, where matters of style assume importance. The author makes no excuses. In all his unpardonable and blatant disregard for structure and style, his relationship with poetry has always been illegitimate. He wishes to add in the passing that the poems in this collection do not appear in any logical order, chronological, or otherwise.