"Lucas de Lima's stunning book affected me so profoundly at all the stages of reading it, encountering it—before it was a book and afterwards, when it was. In the work of this extraordinary writer, the fragment is not an activity of form. It's an activity of evisceration."
- Bhanu Kapil
"The two voices that alternate in this narrative of trauma—the quotidian voice of the poet and a ritual voice of invocation—queer the story in the most profound way. Together with de Lima we call forth the god who will transform the narrative. As queers, we are the incarnation of countless shamans, medicine men, magicians and priests. The poet places himself in this tradition through his invocation."
- AA Bronson
"Her poems are not ironic. They are direct, deliberately grotesque, theatrical, unsettling, excessive, visceral and somatic. This is feminist surrealism loaded with shifting, playful linguistics that both defile and defy traditional roles for women."
- Pam Brown
"Welcome to Valerie Mejer's phantasmagoria. In the back of the poet's mind, Bachelard may be the touchstone. In the reader's, it could be Bosch."
- C.D. Wright
"Andre Breton famously wrote 'Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all'—Mejer convulses steady as a beating heart."
- Publishers Weekly
"Valerie Mejer keeps writing poems that, in their disconsolate perplexity, disclose a sweeping prospect in which biography, landscape, memory and dream erase their respective margins, making clear to us that what we come to call existence is simply a modality in which we claim our right to weakness, defeat, hemorrhage, because only through radical vulnerably can the urgency of love arise."
- Raúl Zurita
"Abraham Smith carries greatness like a splinter in the lining of the heart. He carries it like a poison drunk up in infancy, a bone shard that traveled from a smashed rib or a flint of exploitation that was planted there by a bad friend or a wasted economic system. Yet music pours from Smith like blood, cheap wine, car-radio and bird song. Abe is an ecstatic, standing outside himself and singing to himself, the whole pulling-apart yet encapsulated pageant of Keats' Nightingale played out in the person of one poet."
- Joyelle McSweeney