- Around Campus
- Around the Hub
- Opinions & Editorials
- The Week’s End
Standing canopy of heads to walk on.
I come from one thing to the next,
wish I could live to a perceived capacity.
This tall grass is imported from Asia.
I could push you in
or kiss you through.
This is an orange explosion,
my expulsion of a cigarette butt off a brick wall.
High up on a balcony,
watching milliseconds of embers expire.
How groovy. It’s all temporal. Abysmal.
Nearly scraped my scalp off climbing back inside.
People, holding stems of a good time wasted, are bothersome.
in here, just to wash my face.
There is no toilet paper,
but there sits more on the table
and somewhere else.
This can is empty, sadly,
but there are more in the refrigerator and somewhere else.