“I’d been told a few things about Horror Sleaze Trash before diving in. It’s for people who hate poetry they said. It’ll blow your fucking mind they said. It’ll make you want to fuck Ben John Smith they said. Well, I am here to say that all of this is true.
Ya know what else is true? I don’t know how the fuck to talk about poetry. Apparently back in my college days, when I tried, I failed. I have the grades from that fucking poetry analysis class to prove it. Lucky for me, Mr. Smith’s work is incredibly accessible and not in the least bit pretentious. I don’t even feel the need to attempt to whip out the educated language of the poetry wankers. I am just that comfortable with his work.
All you need to know is that these poems are a flayed human being, stripped of protective flesh and laid bare before you. They are tragedy and humor and love written in every exposed nerve. They are the beauty in the pain, the dick in the beer bottle, the sea shell in the turd.
Ben John Smith’s words fondled my heart’s cockles. You want your cockles fondled don’t you? Then let Ben John Smith work his magic.”