make an academic sandwich

poet-rants about university/school life.

being a freshman is like what it is
literally, fresh
like raw meat waiting to be licked by the flame
that glowers erratically in its bed of charcoal
tossing, turning

to feel yourself slathered with
the hickory smoke of sight, sound, people
and hoping you can tune it down to white noise by the time the year is through 
thank goodness your dreams are still beautiful
smelling like lawn grass, and wearing its birth-down
huddled quietly (warmly) in your shirt sleeves

& with every chair you sit in, and leave
you hope you remember to check, doublecheck, triplecheck
that you have not left them behind 

the world is my toast.
spread peanut butter
and open wide

because once you're in
you can't stop talking about what you're in
like this final, gripping finale
of what you were before
and the introductory chords of a 'goal-driven life' 

don't know whether i'm going to find myself, or lose myself

The End

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