I love slow readers. And readers who think about what I've written, think about how it's written - and copy me!

I pay a lot of attention to whitespace. I pay a lot of attention to the rhythm of words together.

There is something so deeply visceral about libraries for me-rooms and rooms full of people dreaming and remembering.

I've learned a lot as a writer about poetry.

One place exists as their interpretation of it. For the people living and thriving inside of it, it's another place.

A long time ago, Anne used to talk about energy - how that was all that love was - ions connecting across synapses of time and air. Don't rationalize, she'd say. None of it will ever make sense. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, not wanting to cry. Anne was right. None of it made any sense.

Even with all of its changing, Brooklyn's architecture still feels like home, the language feels like home. It's changing so quickly that it's surprising. It's surprising still, when someone looks kind of askance to see me walking towards them.