Vin Whitman’s True Stories of the Odd Equinox is an absurdist’s poetic delight. Whitman uses an expert bravura to illustrate a defective society like showing a funhouse refection in a standard mirror. From the poem Free Fall in Winter: We suffer the smoke to part/ Allowing seasoned crew and passengers/ To add up/ Move through the chute and be counted/ Like virgins and chickens/ Clucking but not fu**ing/ Around the unflappable wing we see the hole,/ Clutch our wrists and throats/ The jagged post-partum opening stark/ Against our strange calm/ A bubble missing its dialog/ "WTF??" This collection belongs on the bookshelves of poetry lovers everywhere