Being the rhyming ramblings of a disenchanted octogenarian poet adrift in an increasingly alien world of non-vocal human to human methods of communication.
With the banana like fingers of a dyspraxic, and the keyboard skills of an Orang Outang with a hangover, I find myself increasingly the only man in step in this modern world.
At least that's my excuse for this collection, which I expect to languish at the bottom of the sales league before disappearing into obscurity.
Related Subjects
Poetry