A highschool dropout roams the beaches of Northern California, meeting a series of strangers who propose contests of strength and absurdly specific wagers: what pieces of detritus will the next wave carry away? He is in no position to refuse any suggestion offered to him. He understands the literal meaning of the words spoken to him but he will never understand the rules of the game.
Of course, that blurb will only work for a single book of poetry, one that, in fact, does not yet exist, though I may write it some day. Where you get into trouble is with blurbs that could be about any book of poetry: "The poet gazes at his navel and has some profound but whimsical thoughts, writing them up with flair and panache."