May good flowers always bloom for you
and good fortune always be yours too.
The red paper pocket my parents sent
presents six crisp one-hundred dollar bills
they can't afford but will still send until
I'm married or dead. Needing every cent
to pay the cost of New York City's rent
while ambition hustles to fulfill
itself, I don't swindle or steal or kill
but pocket the greenbacks and their intent.
I think of Hart Crane, strongly doubtful, bent
on being a writer, dining on goodwill,
swallowing pride, yes, like a bitter pill
and plucking the roses the rich soil lent.
I am reading as one of three features at the Cornelia Street Cafe. It'd be lovely to see you there if you can make it. I hope to read some new poems too.
Date: April 23 (Sun)
Time: 6 - 8 p.m.
Place: Cornelia Street Cafe (link below)
Admission: $6 (includes one drink)
No open mike.