suddenly I’m afflicted with wanderlust—
me, who yesterday wouldn’t care
to see the far end of my self-appointed corner,
would rather engage the improbability drive
and turn into a sofa,
than wonder any longer
than I aim to wander.
My English 268 teacher wants me to write two 8-10, single-spaced, page essays for my midterm. Like Jesus, man, I have other classes, and this is basically an entry level English class. You have 38 students, and if everyone does the minimum you’re asking for, then you’ll have to read through 608 pages of garbage insight into boring 18th century autobiographies. Either you have no intention of giving honest grades for the amount of work you’re asking, or you’re just a sadistic fuck.
I’ve regressed beyond self recognition
who’s to say how far I’m gone,
precisely the problem.
I’ve alienated everyone
I, aye myself— an alien of entreat,
I am pasturer of life’s lame bull
save some detached humors
like how, in light of all the savor
I still might be repulsed.
like the over- of these dreaded days gone under, most recently when last I wore this shirt. I’d call it unlucky, but I’ve had my share of both, and I need only look upon the image of sunset on cotton to find a dreaded day immortalized. Still, it seems nothing ever goes my way— and, well, maybe it’s my fault for constantly looking backwards, but I swear I must have missed something; like a message hidden in the exacerbated pantomime of my poor decisions. I used to think I’d kill for a compass, but I’ve found that Juliet never waits quite long enough.
With great trepidation I met my fate
And as she spoke she stakes
every innocent bicycle wheel
in a half mile radius.
“Imagine the burden that’s just been lifted
— well aren’t you going to catch them?”