Oscar Wilde said something like “All bad art is sincere,” didn’t he? Well, there’s abundant evidence to support that statement. Look, I hate “globalized indifference to personal emotions” as much as the next guy, but I tend to think even a wildly passionate writer should at least try to write well. And you can’t apologize for failing in that direction by writing “this is a CD on paper” on the back jacket. The expression that describes that technique is “cop-out.” Every piece has a great musical twist or three buried among the half-assed rhymes and (yawn!) incredibly lazy patches, so Dorey cannot claim a talent disability either. He has no excuse. The book is very nicely bound and printed, with a striking red cover. It must’ve cost the poet a lot of hard earned cash. (Donato Mancini)
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