If you could live with only one piece of art, what would it be?
I have a seven-foot-tall nightlight that my father made out of old barn wood, brass doorknobs, a bent table leg, and an early 20th-century metal baby doll’s head. When you plug it in, the light pours out of the doll’s face and seeps through all of the metal’s previously invisible cracks. I’m pretty sure it has scarred me deeply in ways I’m not even aware of and it’s probably a fire hazard, but it’s been with me for all my 34 years, so I can’t imagine life without it.
If you could collaborate with anyone alive today (someone you don’t know personally), who would it be?
I would like to work with Jenny Holzer to coordinate the entire city’s skyline into a poem that can only be read in its entirety from a single point on the Philadelphia Museum of Art steps.
How does residing in this region contribute to your artistic practice?
I’ve never subscribed to the idea that an artist, a writer especially, requires solitude to practice his or her craft. So, for me, the amazing community of writers and artists I’ve had the privilege of connecting with here in Philadelphia has been incredibly inspiring. Coming from a relatively isolated and compartmentalized creative environment in New Mexico four years ago to this thriving nexus full of so many brilliant voices eager to engage and exchange…I can’t tell you how grateful I am to every single one of them. I honestly believe there is no better place in the world to be a poet at this moment.
Which artist would you most like to have dinner with, from any time in history?
Aperitif: Georges Perec
Main course: Jackson Mac Low
Scotch and cigarettes: Charles Olson