Like a flock of birds, a poem is often anti-narrative, obscuring its sense of beginning, middle or end, reflecting its own internal momentum and evolving emergent contours and forms. A poem seeks simultaneous order and disorder in its structures and aesthetic mix, filtering through its diction and syntax both the simple and complex, seeing both what belongs as well as that which appears not to belong.
All words in a poem have unintended interpretations.
All syntax in a poem has unexpected repercussions.
All juxtapositions in a poem have unvoluntary outcomes.
Opposites in a poem co-exist, and so co-evolve.
A poem possesses within itself the structural design of intimacy, a kind of internal, natural architecture that pulls together, assembles, fabricates the writer/reader relationship.
A poem is full of the invented and the real, with no explanation as to why or how they might be related; it’s what releases us from needing to know the difference.