Jane Cassady's For the Comfort of Automated Phrases is a bottle of wine on a blanket in the park. It's a night on the couch with your girlfriend, your boyfriend... or both of them. It's making soup for a friend with a sick child. It's the beautiful unpretentious. At its heart, this is a book of love poems written starry-eyed to board games and geography, to pop culture and pop music, to nephews and cats and cities and singers. Cassady's full-length debut is the poetic equivalent of a mix tape - one you'll keep rewinding and replaying - one that could easily be the soundtrack to your life.