I prefer shorter forms.
Occasionally, I find a point of vivid vitality, not always by my own will – that option is inconstant in this situation. Many occasions, this vitality occurs from art, from pals, from might, from sorrow. Many hunt for this bond throughout, pursuing it through various paths – liquor, lust, song, motion, chats, flings, faith, sports, drugs – though not always found, still pursuing with faint optimism for a turn to bliss. Writing is my fix. I am drawn by humanity, all this charm of it. To portray this charm in words is a grand task, and it's what I commit to. It's not obvious what this vitality is, so I look for things that spark it. I think this vitality links to ugly truths and hard fragility, but words can't possibly grasp its glory. In my writing, I favor sound, wordplay, and contrast – things that astound and draw in; things that bring you to this instant. I am struck by such things in all works, and it's crucial to polish my capacity to spot and honor such things. Still, I think of such things as only a path. Writing is this spiritual transformation — it is a pursuit of magic.
Of poets, I am not an experimental writer. I misrepresent myself above in this way only.
some current representative works:
some, much cruder, in an older style:
“we lost touch with where we had started.”
Any mentions or implications of death (by one’s own hands) are purely Freudian.