Early in
a literature course thin-
rimmed ageless professor arch
arcane with starch in his chin
a text’s themes
the question (more koan) seems
manageable yet a strong
fear of being wrong rears screams
in the blood
while the mind can only scud
helplessly above the next
page as though both text and flood
of thoughts whirl
and would menacingly curl
twine become foreign no bridge
to the language’s gnarled swirl