Tupelo Press

Synopsis

John Cross’s poems are like prickly, finely wrought, shattered gems cast of awe and ruin. They are full of the guilt and pain and the ferocity of imagination it takes to get through the day. Antigone is at home in this world as much as a carny. staring at the animal is a tonally haunting songbook, a rescued hymnal, a guide for when we might ‘start upright in (our) seats.’

Spun from startling, meticulous twists of language, these poems make the spine tingle. Cross has a way of grounding association and insinuation in quick sound links that are both sensuous and cerebral. These short, swift pieces shoot us over the surface of a world we recognize just before he suddenly makes it look brand new.