MY LIFE IS A GUARDIAN PENCIL
I may have kept you down, a notch or
two anyway, walking along these streets,
small pouches of nothing, at Dartmouth
and Cornell. Of other things I cannot
speak - nor do I even know why I
am here. Remiss in my retelling, I'd
surely be leaving certain things out.
-
Surely this is the dumbest place in the
world, yet all these streets are named
for colleges, selfsame. Lewd lingerers
and lawn-man maniacs are all I see.
'Tuesdays With Morrie' is a heavy read.
Down at the end of the street, the new
corn-king paralytic burns his ventless
grill with meat from gristled steers.
Or is that bum? How's it all go?
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