Enough of clones of something that was not really alive but not quite dead enough.
Conformity is deformity.
Surely under the visible stratum of terminal aesthetic degradation promoted by the cultural bureaucrats there was an invisible world of poets who did not identify ignorance with authenticity, emotion with loss of moral control, and imagination with trickery. Surely the future of poetry couldn't be John Hegley and Simon Armitage. But we had to read through a lot of bad poetry to find the good. You are facing an anthology with no centre, of poets with nothing in common except a rejection of the self as commodity and of everyday speech. These three dozen writers don't exist on each other's maps.