The Shirls.

I was very happy one day not too long ago to open my mailbox and see a package wrapped in cellophane from Lulu.com waiting for me. Held within this parcel was the new chapbook from Ben John Smith, my aussie friend, confidant and a fucking good poet, which he co-wrote with the talented Ryan Quinn Flanagan


The cover featured a naked chicken cuddling with two brews, and I couldn't think of a better enclosure for such a fucking good collection of poems that range from the haunting and sad, to the hilarious and obscene. Ben's poetry is heavily steeped in influences like Uncle Buk and other confessional prodigies. Some poems will stand out in my mind for weeks, among them " The Day I Was A Model for a Gay Magazine" and "Internet Blues". His work embodies the very essence of the absurd, and while laughing your ass off on one page, you will find your eyes tear up a bit on another, and you will feel like a giant fag.

And let's not forget Ryan Quinn Flanagan. The poem "another forced eviction" is a harsh and stunning artistic take on a situation that has played far too many times in the depth of our current economic hell. And "Busy Little Bee" is fucking genius in its simplicity and humor.

To be told, I can't think of a single fucking line of this book that I didn't enjoy, and my usual readers are familiar with my hatred of most things, and call me a sell-out fan for offering such giddy praise, but they can suck my left nut. This chapbook is the future of poetry, the 21st century middle class horny and drunk male, with his dick out, last dollar in his pocket, and cheap beer in hand in all it's 101 page glory. There was only 25 copies made, so fuck you if you weren't smart enough to get one before it sold out.

The fucking words

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