I am a desert poet, which means that I am willing to stare long hours at a space that seems desolate, and do the work of seeing. It means that I am content within arenas of hushed limitation, because I recognize this hush as the one that comes before the buzz of scrappy invention. Typically set in isolated, shifting terrains, the narrators of my lean yet lyrical poems are often witnesses to the underside of rural life. Through intensely vulnerable persona poems, I try to expose all angles of the flawed and splendid human animal.
In my work, you are not likely to find a field of star thistle without a rusted junk pile in it, nor will you find a rusted junk pile void of some treasure. There is an antique marble in that oxidized beer can there—a Ribbon Lutz in blue glass. See it? Beyond endurance in observation, it is my hope that my poems raise the question of how we are to live our lives in the face of fear, darkness, and stark aching beauty. And more importantly, how do we live our lives when we think no one is watching?