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My poetry often focuses on simultaneously tragic and ludicrous set-ups, allowing for a good deal of mucking about with form and contrast. So when I collage quotes from Yosemite Sam, I’m really interested in bluster and the desperate person behind it. When I imagine Bluebeard flicking through his photo album, it becomes an exercise in summing up his idle feelings for each dead spouse, using a strict two-stress-per-line structure. Whether a piece zones in on a man wandering comically through a rich friend’s house, failing to find the party he’s here for, or the Amiga game Lemmings rewritten as an epic escape narrative, I like to explore insecurity through unusual portals.