Most of my poems begin with images. I am less interested in narrative; I prefer the strange, the weird: poetry that releases me . . .

When I was small it was the red sparkly shoes, and how she clicked her heels together, lightly, just so. Later, it was the way she leaned back against the hay, dreaming . . .

For me, writing is about trying to leap between the particularities of a very small moment . . . and the larger forces of nature and time.

I am drawn to the holy, the scientific, and the wildly grotesque landscapes of the American psyche, and I am most interested in where these three converge.

Both aimless and purposeful, walking sounds the rhythm of heartbeats and breath, iambic footfalls that lend sonnets their rhythms. For much of my life, I’ve traveled on foot . . .

When it comes to inspiration for a story, I’m a bit of a magpie. I feel like I’m always drawn to the object or person out of place . . .

I’ve heard that many people do their best thinking in the shower. I do my best thinking pushing a stroller. If you live in my neighborhood, you’ve probably seen me talking to myself . . .