the perils of love and graduate work it is the awkward gait of a tall girl who is not graceful enough to play sports, the frat boys who sit in the corner near the door and shoot looks at each other while everyone else reads their Keats every soul in this room is concerned with their own monologue and even i can’t hear their palpitating hearts despite the infinite acoustics of the room which turn every subtle movement into the miserable moan of old auditorium seats there are spilt blueberries on the floor in the back, abandoned skin shriveled like a gentle reminder my plump cheeks, incandescent with desire will hollow out in my old age they (the blueberries) and i listen to the shuffling of reluctant young english majors into stiff lecture halls where their vocal cords have gone to die and be haunted by the latent dripping of a slow death from a paper purgatory, inkwell run dry the auditorium will not remember us after we have fulfilled the expectation of our time here and as i speak these existential fears , his mirrored floodgate eyes refuse to challenge it or condemn my urge to prove myself memorable
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