An English Literature Student: To His Own Beloved Self.

To his Own Beloved Self An English Literature Student Dedicates These Lines Eleven.

An English Literature Student: To His Own Beloved Self.

 

Heavy as only the alarm can be.

“Render unto Pilot what is Pilot’s, to Croft what is Croft’s.”

Another early lecture.

Where shall I hide my hangover?

Where is my liar?

 

If only I were

small

as the great Koan –

I’d stand up on the SU’s squared top

and bring it to turn with me without end.

 

If only I were

poor!

As a Business student!

What’s money to the soul?

Just devil’s shit.

All the shit of corporations couldn’t feed the revolutionary herd of my essays.

 

If only I were

quiet

as a demonstration,

I would hear my poems screaming

that no one is reading them.

 

Eleven past one.

Wake up from this soporific mumbling.

By what gods was I conceived-

so critical and so useless?