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MATT CLIFFORD is spiking the Kool-Aid. A caustic, yet vulnerable, thirty-something brat. He builds a box just to escape it. Self-deprecating, but he's taking you with him. Matt Clifford is Denver, but he'd never admit it. This book is equal parts Matt and Clifford, but only sometimes. Matt is a full-time poet who sunlights as a tax accountant. His poems are, at once, collective and separate. Damn your preconceived notions. Don't be so reliant on a back cover to tell you what to think. This book deserves to be read. Damn this book. Damn your eyes.

Produktbeschreibung
MATT CLIFFORD is spiking the Kool-Aid. A caustic, yet vulnerable, thirty-something brat. He builds a box just to escape it. Self-deprecating, but he's taking you with him. Matt Clifford is Denver, but he'd never admit it. This book is equal parts Matt and Clifford, but only sometimes. Matt is a full-time poet who sunlights as a tax accountant. His poems are, at once, collective and separate. Damn your preconceived notions. Don't be so reliant on a back cover to tell you what to think. This book deserves to be read. Damn this book. Damn your eyes.
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Autorenporträt
Matt Clifford is a coastal transplant, city-ruining culture suck, snorting stardust off angels' halos like a tax accountant and decorating the loft of his mind with student loan art. His poems don't make sense, his band doesn't even play real songs, and he can't grow facial hair.