“We Americans are all imaginary orphans, forever seeking a new name, a new carapace, and the further adventure. ‘Call me Ishmael’ is thus a motto more proper to our republic, and more forward-looking, than ‘E Pluribus Unum.’ In Ishmael Mask, Kell has parsed the fossil record of our orphancy in beautiful and unguarded detail; he has adventured much and withheld nothing. For those who come to poetry in search of a credible future, Kell will prove to be a true and unfailingly honest companion.”

“How does one hammer memory onto the page without nails or bullets? Kell wails his own mnemonic siren through the literary specter of Herman Melville’s Pierre, Kafka, etc., and we wail with him like a stone who can easily weep, but we don’t. There is touchless erection in this book and drowning and death and suicide and a ‘rat runs in small circles where the green hat used to lie’ and may suggest life and pain and existential revisitations have cast shadows that are bigger than meadows. Perhaps in this collection Kell is yelling from the top of his lungs, but all we could hear is wind and January or ‘black, red, green spiral of smoke.’ Or perhaps Kell and his poetry are a cellar we all wish we could descend into to grab mason jars of beauty and grace in times of existential hunger and famine.”

“Poetry is rarely so vividly an art of the face to face as it is in Kell's Ishmael Mask: the faces of the dead, the faces in the mirror, the faces of the lover, blurred by presence and distance. These poems, shadowed by Melville and Kafka, are also a history of one poet's encounters with the inscrutable relentlessness of fate and the inevitable privacy of suffering. ‘One can draw loss, draw frost, without anyone knowing,’ he writes. Yet knowing here becomes his reader's privilege, an unveiling slowly emerging through the voice of his haunting, indelible, lines.”

"In Ishmael Mask, Kell asks us to consider our existence, not in the context of a physical and metaphorical cage we might free ourselves from, but in the context of our wanderings through an often surreal, ultimately unknowable landscape. The literary characters who accompany him become subsumed into collection’s searching self, fellow companions whose creators he freely borrows from. They pull him back from the abyss and provide a frame to temper chaos. In Kell’s hands, the act of art-making becomes the means by which we embrace our deep sense of connectedness. . . .  Ishmael Mask explores obsession, passion, and absurdity, leading us to the edge of the abyss. When we arrive, rather than falling, we revel."