What I look for in poetry is an uneasy kind of energy. An energy that is already beyond the configuration of words and then assumes a density that is akin to music. At the heart of it all is jazz. Jazz, the manipulation of breath— the unleashing of breath, the holding of breath, the destruction of breath. The most basic unit of jazz is the swing and the breath. My primary influence is the Beat movement and I think my initial fascination for them was rather hinged on the wrong reasons: the radical visual arrangement of lines on the page, the profanity and the absurdity that struck my mind as a welcome relief from the stultifying archaisms of 17th-century English poetry force-fed on us by high school teachers. Here was, at long last, literature that spoke to me. It was in sympathy with the energy of free jazz and punk rock records that I was listening to at that time. Through the lyrics of punk rock and hardcore records, I had an inkling of how words can be more powerful than a guitar amplifier cranked up all the way to ten. My exposure to the poetry of Ginsberg and Kerouac opened me up to the world of possibilities. And I am obsessed with the idea of ‘possibility’. ‘Possibility’ is what art is all about. It is the constant wrestling with forms, styles, and structures. It is the idea that something better is always out there. It is about discontent. It is about discontent with the safe, the middling, the accepted, and the acceptable.
— Lourd de Veyra