There is an extraordinary degree of amity among Washington poets. They hang together. You would be hard pressed to find that in Manhattan.
I have a vast ‘bone pile’ of stillborn or abandoned poems along with jottings and wisps from the great beyond that I tend to scan. Sometimes that leads somewhere, and sometimes the Muse is just on sabbatical.
I was a very, I think, lonely kid, very introspective. I felt very much at odds with my environment and my culture… Probably a genetic flaw. I can’t really explain it.