The poems in ANTI-FACE form an irked missive from the failing state of the autobiographical lyric. You may not be able to tell just by looking at them, though. You're not going to get a story out of it, and there's no conceptual architecture in the place of a narrative either. What you will get in the three sequences and single longer poem included here are fragments of everyday language filtered through a sharp ear, dad's fingers baked into the rawhide, blurred images of events you won't quite get the gist of (broccoli? sex?), and something about the poetics of manspreading. Call it an autobiography of thought or perception if you want, by a writer trying hard to meet the world and stay amused and mad, spend some time with his friends and loved ones, and help you have a little fun before his time's up.