I watched the galaxy of storm approaching
from an ocean away,
Today, months later
my professor wears tweed
I remember the empty ceramic bowl,
red onion and crumbles of cheese
on the cutting board beneath it
I closed my eyes in the white tent and retold
Italy while it rained the spikes right out
of the mud
In New York the castles are young and strong
my poetry falls on sidewalks and into
I encourage greatness from the men
who love my sisters. I sing flowers
into blond curls while it storms.
It rains on the westside
where I ride.
So much time has passed.
Kafka was the Rage
Anatole and Bennett both full of
East Village dirt and women’s
secrets. The clouds swell proud
The obscenity comes as a surprise.