In California the dreams of Mama Cass have rotted into dark peat, dead souls and bruised fruit while the leaves turn brown under a sky of grey and the dreamers say they ain’t gonna pray. But the poets are still alive. Their geyser of words run in rivulets across the Atlantic and flow back again from the British Isles in colours of love, lust, pain and lies under these Western Skies. Dreams and nightmares entwine and follow the turn of the tide upon which we all ride. Welcome to a 21st century anthology of the best of English and American poetry.