I almost forgot the smell of new acoustic wood
after I started to order my lead pencils. My
scratched down strings needed a change.
One that sucked in summer semester hours
filled with why brains reject culture or why
culture absorbs brains. I don't enjoy the taste
of culture lectures. It's not my genre.
I want the thick crunch of a girl's version
of "Eminence Front".
I want to smile above the waterline for chills.
I want to be the North Atlantic ice pick
that sank your sober ship.
Don't come to my party dead and still
or be killed for thrills.
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