The only poetry book that Jarman produced was published in 1972, when he was thirty, but he destroyed most of the copies because he thought (unfairly) the poems were ‘puerile’. A few copies remain in libraries and private collections around the world. This edition is a facsimile of the British Library’s copy: an elegant volume, with a silver cover and beautifully laid out text with facing postcards printed in green. Beat-adjacent poetry that would please any fan of his diaries.