Flood gates open:

1.


I am tired of crack heads, bus stops and motorcycles at night. I'd rather just watch love water sunflowers in the afternoon.


2. On a short ride home:

Fog rises above me
shadowed like morning sun
behind Main's red brick & crumblestone
buildings after an earthquake

and two or three spacious aches
hunch
to a solid hum that taps,

Red bricks break foot
hums interrupt seasoned sirens
A last gap of nineteen's air,
I have to go home again.


3.


She's a new madrigal
on her old stomping grounds.