Ben Smith, founder of Horror Sleaze Trash, a site that celebrates all things filthy, honest and carnal, is an true poetic enigma. After meeting up with Ben in a Mexican tequila bar, and after a few shots of some of the best tequila money can buy (without the buying part), it became quickly and painlessly obvious that he is the real deal. He speaks what he does and does what he speaks. If his poetry ship was sinking, he’d stay at the wheel as hundred foot waves crashed over the bow, then pilot it gracefully to the bottom of the ocean and in the last moments before he drowned, he’d write a beautiful, apologetic poem in the sand with his finger about how perhaps next time he should be less drunk at the helm.

His poetry acts as his confession booth, honesty box, diary and bible simultaneously. He openly writes about his passionate embracing of alcoholism, driving around in his car whilst airing his cock in the secret sanctuary of the space below his window, drunkenly eating seashells for shits and giggles (then shitting them out) and an epic (spanning three poems) about shaving his balls. Then amongst this slightly crass, seemingly callous (whilst still essentially poetic) material you’ll find beautiful, sensitive character studies and existential musings about sitting with a dying kangaroo in the rain.

T-Squat is proud to present a selection from Ben’s new poetry book: ‘Horror Sleaze Trash’ and it is within these three loose thematic guidelines that Ben writes. For those who think they don’t dig on poetry, let Ben Smith show you just how accessible, valid and unpretentious it can be.


Click here to read parts 2 and 3 of Ben’s ball shaving epic.

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