by A. D. Winans. 6 pages. Bottle of Smoke Press
Book Review by Michael Basinski
A slice of offering, I mused, when I slit open this package and out gushes this guts of gunpowder. And my tongue inflames and soul spitting into the filthy air as I read again and again this very first poem by Winans what he titled: Where Have All The Old Political Poets Gone. And I knew then again why I sit here each day with my eyes bleeding and arthritic fingers on the triggers of these here keys. Ah it is again that out of law self writes rite of passage that each manifesto word pisses into the eye of dull god with spiritual ink of poetry. Oh Winans, across these electronic intestines and continents, times and worlds, words Winans, be assured that there are a mass of WE hold up here and there ready to spring to the throat of the vapid culture outside the front door. O! I am in the middle of a review! So readers rush and view it yourself. Winans poems are a spiritual shield, an armor of poetry to deflect the hail of mundane bullets killing your heart each morning on your way to out there. I say, POETRY, GIVE ME STRENGHT to toss my tie in the garbage and wear my shoes until they are sand and feet sand also on the journey towards a pure poetry in a Winans poem.