[...] This work, written by Lucy Thomas (if she really exists) is lucid surrealism, delicate and provocative with hidden strength. One could consider it 'boring' and 'pointless' if one also didn't care for Japanese poetry, or the prose poems of James Tate and Ron Padgett-the sorts of artists who maintain the gorgeously skewed vision to consider subjects like, for example, the happiness of the employees at 'my' post office, the small, artificial hand of a boy that was never replaced even when he became a man, why one should never laugh at discounts-points of view that gently jar your world. If you are a writer, and you wish to release the taut bindings that inhibit one's imagination, this might be, to mix the old metaphors, your cup of tea. If you aren't, and still would care for the ultimate grown up stocking stuff, here's a book for you.