Three years ago, when I first met Justin Booth, he was homeless, jittery, and possibly drunk at a monthly poetry workshop, a vagabond prince holding court with the Poet Laureate of Arkansas, an 80-something grand southern dame of a lady. I stood back and listened to him talk, quoting lines from beat and beat-up poets of the last century, watching her head nod along with the rhythm in his voice, and I knew why this strange pairing worked. Both of these people with two very different stories simply and absolutely believed in the art and truth of the poem. Flash forward to this past Saturday night, and there's Justin Booth, no longer vagabond prince but poetry king, at the symphony with a beautiful woman on his arm. Booth is the real deal, rugged royalty with a talent for writing raw. How he got to this point makes for damn fine reading. His poetry is the best salvation: it gets you clean only to make you dirty all over again. Bryan Bourland, Sibling Rivalry Press