"Justin Wymer's poems are at once lavish, haggard, and irrevocable. They flense the world they celebrate—laying bare each crevice, splitting textures to their blazing (perhaps blessed) entrails, dis-covering where a radical, even harshly abraded, nakedness to sensory experience gets caught up and reinvested, if not redressed, by a vibrant synesthetic imagination. His diction and music may be charged with a grandeur, but this would be Hopkins by way of Thunder, West Virginia, and via the Lorca-haunted streets of New York. The grandeur is inseparable from a corrosive modernity, the votive urgency . . . something hectic yet watchful, musically dense yet listening. If there are still genii in our loci—or in our very dis-locations—they dart and gather in Wymer’s fierce revelations."
—Peter Sacks, from Poet Sampler in Boston Review
Cover photo by Jasmyne Keimig