"Between birth and death, the meandering. Living. Stacy Doris's Knot is Poetry, clear-headed and restrained. 'Harmony and form, each song, these constructs serve law.' This law is a puzzle the cat keeps. Doris's succinct diction records the care where trace recovers. Signs remain, ties bind. So it's timely, Dear Readers, to address this Knot."
—Norma Cole, author of Spinoza in Her Youth
"Their paradoxical faith to what’s never present makes Knot’s anarchic lyrics hum instead of merely sing: apocryphal protocharacters and mock cantos chart out a future as well as a history for themselves and for us, even as they refuse those tenses for the terrorized current of complicity—and they ward away all but faultfully proliferating third persons. If there’s a little less oooh baby, more kid as maculated concept in Ms. Doris’s latest lush essay in marriage, there’s also less privacy here than even before, more imploding within the wound. What’s never present is always felt; what’s always passing is ever—achingly—contemporary, like the formless definitive cat’s disquieting purring, like this langue-twisting that tracks it so closely, bellicosely."
From "Under Fire, i.VII": "Each moment, fifteen pounds of air pin us by gravity. Then / anyone / Needs sixteen pounds of lightness to ever budge. Such compliance / Demands levitation, must generate excitement, which passion enact; / Thus dreams have all they can handle. From a stone, anchored, / is how / We rise, where faith is placed only in potential, miracle without / Dimension's measure so opening, unhinged at least, where each 'they' / Is porous, in penetrability dunked and enriched."
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