by Chris Mansel. Chris Mansel, 606 West Ranch Road, Florence Alabama, 35633.
Book Review by Michael Basinski
Here in poems dedicated to Kerouac, Corso, Jake Berry and Jack Foley. And here in poetry flesh greasy fingers and odor of ancient ox of Crete. Hot and volcanic and steaming butterflies and birds and alligators singing a courtship call to the rampaging extinct giraffe of the heart and soul and desert and lush, sex forest of American poet. Mansel is a Goodyear Blimp full of hot pepper cracker jack hamburgers of still pools of vestal virgins. All of this floats above the sad heads of us who go about ourmundane lives like so many snails going extinct in the brutal sun.