"The poetry of Keith Jones never loses velocity as a skimming gleam of consciousness just short of earth. Shortness of breath where the ladders of written words go up and down at the same time, not messages, or facts you can contradict, the errands they are on are like boomerangs of wind and echoes of elven hammers and javelins. We live in echo time."–
Fanny Howe
"In Keith Jones' world, we can only know by feeling. Both generous and violent–as being beat, beaten, and slapped by the surrealist's hand–the poems capture the weary, needy state of human body: what it is to have a body, to need love, to feel pain. Jones' voice comes across, always, like an oracle's beating heart, like a prayer whispered at the altar of the word."–Anaïs Duplan