In American Prophet, Robert Fanning introduces us to a man, a self-anointed savior-savant, who is unlike any other character in the history of American poetry. Fanning's black-suited prophet moves through the various curvatures of our cultural landscapes—from Spring Break to Elvisfest to nameless factories and barns in the middle of nowhere America—as he reaches out and speaks out his forebodings to anyone willing to listen. Who among us, these days, takes the time to stop and listen to the mad ramblings of any street corner prophet? Thanks to Fanning himself, the puppeteer/poet-man behind the so-named American Prophet of this brazenly adventurous second collection, we have no choice but to stop and listen and to live for a while inside the musical beat-boxes that Fanning's stanzas make for us on the page. Never before have the unheard words of a madman raconteur been made and made centerpiece into poems that will burn into our ears with a mixture of comedy and end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it truth.

Robert Fanning's American Prophet questions our ability to receive prophecy, wisdom, vision, or truth, in this culture where the bells and whistles of capitalism have come to constitute prophecy, have come to constitute truth. He has done so with a character who is simultaneously buffoonish and insightful, crazed and on to something. A character who is so utterly confused, so stumbling and lost (but beautifully confused, beautifully lost), that I couldn't help but be compelled by him. In these times especially, I feel like American Prophet is a significant and much-needed book.

Ross Gay, author of Against Which

American Prophet, through poems that manage to be both irreverent and frighteningly inspiring, dares to address the larger concerns of our day: Faith and Doubt. We follow Robert Fanning's "Prophet" in his dark suit, as he roams the common landscape of dry cleaners, movie theaters, and super-marts, like a mad circuit preacher trapped in a strip-mall. What is salvation in a secular world? In a time of deep divisions between the right and the left, believers and those who believe otherwise. No matter what the reader's background, we find ourselves walking in the Prophet's shoes, feeling his grope toward vision, and his frustration as he loses sight of it. It takes an adept poet to pull this off, but these lyrics work the way poetry is meant to work, they move us past presumption and lax acceptance, past what we think we know, to make us rethink our staid convictions, whatever those might be.

Vievee Francis, author of Blue-Tail Fly