Saturday, March 28, 2015


The learning of all universities doth employ him, albeit not on tenure track. We're adjunct to the mountains. The island is a loom, we its shift workers. The gift shop was air conditioned. Her hands in hot water, she wore high heels on a concrete floor. When you teach, imagine this: rows of Canons held by fresh-faced visitors, pointed toward your face as you explicate Blake. Emphasize innocence, which garners rave reviews. The students are a second spectacle. Take, download, crop, and post their pictures. This is not a charity; we'd monetize the mountains if we could. They're green, accept change; waterfalls silver in the sunlight. I stuff my love of poetry in your mouth until you gag on it. Your sickness is not mine. It's the one thing of yours I cannot own.

--28 March 2015

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