“Think Sharon Olds on psychedelics.” —On the Seawall

“Less like Olds on acid, more like Lana Del Rey on Ritalin.”
—The Friday Poem

"Knox’s poetry is massively entertaining, but it’s an entertainment of substance. Death, she reminds the reader, is everywhere, and it’s going to get us all. That reminder becomes a bizarre relief, spoken by a brilliantly blunt poet whose subtle pleasures cannot — and should not — be ignored." —The New York Times

"Knox never moralizes, nor does she get lost inside her own point of view. Add this reference to a mastery of sound and rhythm and a laugh-demanding wit, and there is no higher praise to give. This panopoly of twenty-first century American human experience leaves the reader a different person." —Los Angeles Review

“Endlessly entertaining and emotionally stimulating.” —Publisher’s Weekly 

"Knox’s humor is the kind of funny which is surprising, generous, and vulnerable, and which demands generosity and vulnerability from the reader. This is the kind of funny we have found in writers as various as Gertrude Stein, Samuel Beckett, Antonin Artaud, and Kenneth Koch."
—Critical Flame

"Knox’s aesthetic falls somewhere between Carson McCullers’s The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter and John Waters’s film Pink Flamingos. And there is the surprising tidiness of her writing, despite its pace and the amount of stuff she packs in. She writes the way Dean Moriarty parks cars." —The Poetry Review