I thought to myself, Well, it's probably going to be a poem about Lynda or the book or some such thing.
But no.
It was just his own every day, average, a few moments of funny but nothing that funny quite long poem about a giant joint that had nothing to do with the book or poet being launched. In the end, he spent about twice the time reading his own poem that had nothing to do with Lynda or the book, than he did talking about either. It was just a bit odd, really, and like nothing I'd seen before.
