Spot the fallacies in this moronic review

Taken from the Bamff Poesie Revue, May/June 2008. The reviewer: does not deign to give his name; gets the title of my book wrong; confesses ignorance twice in this text, and yet still presumes to judge; clearly has never read nor written good poetry in his life; unwittingly admits to peculiar perversion in his choice of erotic titillation.

Precisely the sort of review no self-respecting author would pay any attention to.

The Angel--final stanza

And the angel, never flying, still is lying, still is lying
In a shallow layer of concrete just beneath my cellar floor;
And her lips have all the colour of a faded dying flower,
And her skin has the lovely palour of a snow-swept midnight shore;
And her wings from out that concrete that presses down against the floor
Shall fly upward--nevermore!