846 Readings | 4 Ratings

EPISTLE I

Dear Academia: A pistol.

Dear Crackademia. A pipe.
The O in smoke, what hollow.

O Hackademia, you’re dead.
My pleasure, my lackademia.

Luck in the job market.
Dearest dollars: Pluck
the youth right out of me.

Violate all principles of beauty
or pulchritude. Platitude,
among other patron saints.

Dear Wackademia,
You bled all over my leather notebook.
It was Italian.

I am your slackademia. Your maiden name.
Your old CV. Your mimicry.
You’ve moved on.

Change me backademia.
You’re a doctor. You’re almost.
Change me back.
Posted 09/13/11
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