PREFACE
Why is it that the most banal aspects of our humanness are excluded from being expressed in the most mellifluous of manner? Why is it that the bodily functions of pissing, farting, shitting, or such aspects of our humanness as masturbating are excluded from being expressed in the most eloquent language? Is it ordained that ravishing verse must be restricted to a narrow range of genre? Why can’t we express our humanness poetically? Where are the Wordsworths, Shelleys, or Keats of pissing, the Pre-Raphaelites of shitting, or the Wildes, Swinburnes, Baudelaires, Rimbauds of maturbating. Modern poetry has become decorous, respectable, suitable for being recited in polite society. Where is the mellifluous, ravishing verse of the unsaid, the poetry of the hidden?