Pickwick,old chap, I found these in the back of the old notebook. Remember those days? Freezing and half asleep, the only thing keeping us awake was how hard we whisper laughed at what we wrote.
Ode to Disputatio
By Samuel Pickwick
We don our black robes-
sheets of thin ice that envelope
our bright scarves and sweaters.
Today we are receiving
nucleotide knowledge; or
are the dense words really
just missing our ears. And instead
settling down into the folds
of darkness, where they can
rest until they begin to
leak out, where we hung
our robes in the closet.
And that is why, every
once in a while, a brilliant thought
pops into our minds, the robe
has rubbed off on our favorite blue sweater.
Ode to Some Girl's Hair
By Augustus Snodgrass
A black head sits in front of me,
covered in dense curls,
thick and lustrous,
shining in the Disputatio light.
Black snakes coiling dangerously
close to my fingertips.
They hang from the theatre seats
but I resist the apple
and fold my hands upon my lap.
I love these! Thanks for letting my write in your notebook at a time when life was grim. ha.
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