A certain slant lubricates Young's second book of poems. Lines of verse veer top-speed around corners, producing unexpectedly lucid interrogations. Anger is allowed, and disillusionment, and a general mistrust of landscape--the natural world owned and used--all countered with the anodyne of an inebriate sensibility that loves the liquor it bathes in, the language by which it collaborates.
"In Brian Young's new book, 'wolving brainwork' cuts a jagged swath through the presumptions of the republic. Coming as they do from the perspective of an implicated speaker, the political swipes avoid any hint of preaching or self-pity. In fact, true vision intervenes quite often, transporting the reader momentarily--and more forcefully, therefore--out of the more or less hellish existence that is, however, to a great extent itself the result of just how clearly this poet sees what's really happening. These brilliantly sounded poems swallow-tail, then snake. We're held, leaning forward in our seats."