New York

In the Verb Cafe in Brooklyn. Some indie label cacophonous strumming loud out of mini speakers over my head, a scruffy Jewish college student reading Bronte beside me as he holds his hand over the mug to keep his coffee warm. Maybe everyone just wants to leave home. I wait for my things driven by a stranger across the country, to a new place, on a hunch.


Later, in Hudson. Opened a bottle with a cork that said "wine with hope." Living in a historic house, the sounds of cicadas outside and Musty Chiffon, (a drag queen having cocktails) out my rapunzel window. John Ashbery across the street. Everything is old and empty and ready to be made into something. Two people told me they saw my ex today and I read his last post on SE's website and this time have to admit it has substance. People are all paradoxes. It's as if he read my earlier comment about exoticism, but of course, he didn't. He's could care less, is shoving quarters in slots and making promises, and frankly, it's really okay with me.

Something else is going to happen, something better.