To Jay Wright

[rowens]

I'm trying to merge Wallace Stevens' Supreme Fiction and Jay Wright's experience of ritual as poetry to my own style of poetry as ritual, without the benefit of Antonin Artaud's periods of so-called madness. I have a love/hate relationship with sanity, but my consciousness is too swamped with it, and also too conscientious to concentrate through simple nonsense. So Jay Wright is there rocking between his aesthetic limbo and ethical mortality, and I experience a true limbo, if not a mad one. And rather than a spider, I run with the rabbit, or stand erect beside it crouched in my yard, though it be a literal king of the ghosts.

I take everything seriously these days.