The second half our our conversation:

Sometimes... a story shows up at your doorstep in the wee hours of the night, drunk with the rawness of life. It calls out to you to "open up!" but before you can go to unchain the door, it breaks a window and let's itself in. Sometime that story is a poem, and sometimes that poem is a wild god. When you finally come face to face with it in the kitchen, he...or she...or they... smile an enormous smile and then throw-up on your slippers without apology. You're too late to do anything about it except kick them off and stand barefoot, toe to toe with the old friend you let slip away, a long time ago. They're back now and you realize you may never be the same again.