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Interview by Karen Alkalay-Gut
published in Volume 1, Issue 1 on January 15th, 1994

I am jet-lagged, tired, fluey, disoriented. 
The reading is over, the adrenalin is already
beginning to diminish, and I am remembering
my ingrown toenail, the itch on my eyebrow,
the thirst ignored for almost an hour.
I scratch, shift my weight, sip the water,
and brace myself for the poems created
by those who have read deeply into mine.
Sometimes these questions are like blows
whose force is felt the morning after.

"Do you always write the truth?"

Do you mean my own experiences,
what happens to me,
felt on my skin?  Sometimes
I breathe truths from long ago
or far away.  They
make their way from lungs to screen. 
Or they belong to those I love,
incorporated unwillingly,
exposed in thin 
disguise.

"Do you mind revealing such intimacies
to strangers?"  

More painful to reveal
them to friends.

"Do you live as wild a life as you imagine?"

No one 
could live
that wild a life.

But sometimes it is wilder.

"Isn't there a discrepancy between
the poetic and the critical life?

They feed
each other
like the lion
and the lamb

(Of course, as the joke goes,
we have to replace the lamb every day.)

"Must poets always be lonely?"

Afterward, I walk out into fresh air
with whoever was assigned to feed me,
often someone I really want to know better, 
and we discuss surprising intimacies

while part of me remains 
in the auditorium

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