I, Tempest

I spread

if there's a spread
of this disease

of knowing
don't look at me as your

kind night nurse
don't expect me

to be the buxom bride
of deathbed care

for your limited whim

I'm the skin
of a lady just so deep

then I become like
Nietzsche's animal

dream inside
and want to claw

for something more

and I was

as I approach forty
I realize the irony

that we know so little
about the middle ages

and I understand
the need for swords

and tales of dragons.


Indianapolis, IN