A poem is a confrontation. So often I encounter young poets who have limited their range of motion, of what is possible in their poem, unwilling to shake it and spill it in order to find beauty, find something that frightens. They’re unwilling to discover something they don’t already feel, or know. They’re unwilling in the same ways that we are all unwilling to consider our own inevitable decompositions. We just keep carrying on with our eyes on the same safe things, out of fear, the things we already thoroughly understand.