Cryptid bleeds a cunningly ekphrastic mimesis of t he National Enquirer. Inviting you to indulge your favorite conspiracy theories, these uncanny love poems will force you to question your assumptions of safety, danger, and subjectivity. Collecting all sorts of tender grotesqueries, Browning dishes out unexpected mothers, voiced shadows hiding among canyons and mountains, and the gentlest abductions you can imagine. Readers eat the Lady Sasquatch’s broken heart, and it tastes of “furred-over gelatin” and “lacerated beef.” Listen closely to the voices of familiar and unfamiliar monsters. Gravity shifts, and they’re calling out into the night. Can you hear them? These poems—engorged, embodied, enmouthed—won’t go quietly. —Hannah V. Warren, author of Slaughterhouse for Old Wives' Tales