This weekend I wrote a poem that I'm sure is good, and alongside this intense invention and revision I've been copying out so many Joe Bolton poems that I feel like I've stepped inside his skin, which is assuredly unsafe . . . but now that I've managed to make a real poem, it's hard to care about safety.
What a run-on sentence that was.
I cannot tell you what it means to make something that you know--you know--is right.