Thank you for the kind words. I tend to write best when I am able to stand out of my own way. I firmly believe in the Spicerian concept of the poet as a radio—a receiver of transmissions. Keith Richards describes himself as an antenna in the same sense, and I have always felt a strong connection to these ideas as an artist regardless of medium.

Most of the writing begins with a phrase or a sentence that feels electric. That probably sounds pretentious, but it’s the best way I know to describe it. There is this sense that more is coming and my job is to get it down. Often I am unaware of what I am writing as a whole; it comes through in images and words until it either derails or sort of exhales.

I learn everything from other writers or through daily practice. It becomes part of the process. Prose poetry is something I’m fascinated with. I appreciate the sense of subversion that comes from turning the unassuming form of prose into something that would otherwise be considered and read as poetry.

Most often, the form chooses me rather than the other way around, but there certainly are exceptions. A SEA OF ORANGE COLORED BLUE is a good example of one. That piece was originally written as a poem but it never quite seemed finished. It was only after turning the work into prose that I felt I could see what was missing.

 

 

I’m not aware of any conscious connection between these stories. I tend to let the voices carry themselves in whichever direction they wish to go. Although I am aware the words are always being filtered through my own connection to the world, I almost never write autobiographically. That said, I am aware of the certain sense of loss and uncertainty that connects these stories.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH JACK has the most direct connection to me consciously. That piece was kind of an outlet to an obsession I had with a series of photographs from a family album my wife recently acquired. There was a series that featured a rather detached looking boy. Each photo was simply labeled “Jack.” It ended with a grim photograph simply labeled, “Jack’s Grave.” The only information I could get on him was that he rarely spoke, was killed by a truck in front of his house at the age three, and that there was a strong sense in the family that Jack was never to be spoken of. His belongings were all kept packed away; no one knew they existed until after my wife’s grandmother (Jack’s Mother) had died.

 

 

Right now I’m finishing up WE TAKE ME APART by Molly Gaudry. I’ve just started GHOST MACHINE by Ben Mirov and KINGS OF THE F**KING SEA by Dan Boehl. VENTRILOQUISM by Prathna Lor is staring at me longingly.

 

 

My background is originally in music and I certainly bring that with me. In fact, my exposure to favorites such as Baudelaire, Bukowski, ee cummings, Jack Spicer, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti originally came through other musicians.

But, most of those who actually inspire me to write daily are writers who are very much alive in the independent literary scene. Andrew Zawacki is a poet whose work I can never get enough of. Rob McLennan is another favorite.

Howie Good won me over to the subversive nature of what a prose poem could be. This brought me to poets such as Sheila E. Murphy, Kyle Hemmings and Mark Cunningham. J. A. Tyler—through both his own writing and the work he publishes at Mud Luscious Press—has done much to show me just how well the lines between poetry and prose can be feathered.