
Dealer by Ivan Salinas
There’s Only Peace In Death Press
www.darylgussin.com, $14.00
Reviewed by A. Iwasa
This collection of poems starts off with a two page long paragraph, stream of consciousness type piece, from which it takes the name, “Dealer”. It definitely sets the tone for the rest of the book. Off the bat, you may assume it’s about a drug dealer, but that assumption’s promptly turned upside down when Salinas writes about “a dealer in the deep web of the night” found while looking for a car, “I was going to get a brand-used baby from a sketchy Spanish-speaking dealer, following a family tradition.”
Though the details are different, it’s the kind of scenario I could easily see someone from my white family in the rust belt playing out, and not a far cry from my limited misadventures on foot and public transit in So Cal.
Finally getting to a place “more of a junkyard than a dealer” that can only be described as “seeing through a veil of grainy radio static,” it’s the poetry in everyday life.
Generally what I like about prose poetry is performance. Even when it’s a scene I’m not connected to, the context is what can make or break it for me such as my preference for the Beat Generation’s novels, as opposed to their poetry which defined it for so many people. But Salinas’s work is different. Though I consider chap books to be the ‘zines of the poetry world, Salinas is both a poet and a ‘zinester. Dealer is mostly laid out like a ‘zine with funky photography, and some experiments with creative layout and hand drawn art.
I’m not sure how some of the most creative pieces such as “Discount Auto Dreams” and “Statement of Facts” could be read out loud without losing their charm. Spoofs of forms, or perhaps actual forms filled out the way you might if you were feeling snarky and had no intention of getting whatever the form is for, they’re 110% ‘zine material, or perhaps wingnut flyer or demo tape layout.
They’re the kind of pieces that make me feel at home reading Dealer compared to your average poetry chap book.
Somewhat similarly, I spent a little too long figuring out that the last line of “PO441 vs. La Yahualica Auto Electric” is actually a line. A mostly conventionally laid out poem unravels, and though I have some funny ideas about how a live reading might go, I mostly appreciate how the formatting gets creative to tie in with the end of the poem.
It’s not all mundane; coming out of Los Angeles in 2026, lines like “Tinted Fords and GMCs prey on the road, planning grand theft auto at gunpoint in federal uniform,” address the bigger picture also in “Hey Mula,” without flogging you over the head.
But still, it’s the poetry of everyday life that draws me in and wins me over. I can’t help but be sure Salinas knows someone who “used to say the border/was just a rumor in asphalt.” And, that “He said the line was real/only when the engine stalled,” as in “Federal Limits Do Not Apply.”
Another very cool aspect of this collection is that the poems are printed in both English and Spanish.


