There's nothing more ambitious than a young poet. You feel omnipotent. You're on the upswing of bipolar. And that enrages older poets—which, to a certain sensibility, only makes you want to be more vapid and fame obsessed and glib. No one can tell you what the limits are. As it should be. No one's got the keys to the kingdom.


The Paris Review, Issue 214, Fall 2015, The Art of Poetry No. 99


There's nothing more ambitious than a young poet. You feel omnipotent. You're on the upswing of bipolar. And that enrages older poets—which, to a...

There's nothing more ambitious than a young poet. You feel omnipotent. You're on the upswing of bipolar. And that enrages older poets—which, to a...

There's nothing more ambitious than a young poet. You feel omnipotent. You're on the upswing of bipolar. And that enrages older poets—which, to a...

There's nothing more ambitious than a young poet. You feel omnipotent. You're on the upswing of bipolar. And that enrages older poets—which, to a...