Publisher's Synopsis
I knew not the madman, but his ramblings caught my fascination somehow. I had a sense of verse and his seemingly nonsensical babbling piqued that sense when I realized that his ramblings were set to an odd, cacophonous, and disorderly rhythm. I began sitting behind the old wall this man would lean to and beg from during the day and through that wall, wrote down each and everyone of his ramblings, in as much as I can make out coherent sentences. Sometimes, I couldn't understand the things he was saying. it was as if he spoke in some ancient tongue. i naturally excluded those unknown words, which i myself could barely pronounce, moreover spell and put in writing. Each day brought a new babbling, which carried with it a new theme, from which I based the titles of each poem from.
