by Lindsay Wilson. ISBN 0-9675226-7-6. 48 pages. $5.95. Pathwise Press, PO Box 2392, Bloomington, IN. 47402.
Book Review by Michael Basinski
Hear young man poems soaked with love, aching love, love still bound with lush lust Uroboros in a continuum of sheets, morning separations, mouths opening, opening curtains, separating curtains and dresses falling in a heap of petals on the floor. Ah the endless pyramid of the laundry of loving made by the slaves of pungent human juices, meaning poets. Here stepping forward into the moist spotlight is Lindsay Wilson of Moscow, Idaho, who loves the women of Moscow, Idaho and who when not in embrace embraces the words to convey his sad separation passion crawling poetry tongue again up her leg of poem. Tongue! Why tongue you read and say! Well, read the first stanza of his: Late Winter Snow Storm, 2002:
the man by the window wipes the perspiration off with a dollar, and thinks of devil's trumpets -purple in summer's giving. the girl at the coffee counter, sick of steam, is getting off work with her flat hair, and talking about vegas with a swimming tongue.
So, want love poems on the pancake griddle of the far west Idaho! Oh, Wilson is there with the syrup up!