1870 Mag

Poets of Campus: Keep Conscious.

Don’t feel sorry for starving artist.
Not when barmen are charging what they’re charging for PBR.
Proverbs and car alarms.
Are you a scholar or a prophet?
I’d rather talk to Pops and turn in projects.
Stacy Song suggests I take the A and progress.
Lost in thoughts that pop and
Drop like falling objects.
Watch like tocking subjects.
Ticking time bombs ominous
Walk and talk like sidewalk chalk drawing.
Report cards and raw sex see sawing.
He’s gone back and forth for three margins.
Two times the size of the one she needs all of.
I’m larger than her ex, he needs to stop calling.
I keep my peace and leave when it’s all calm.
I don’t need to breath for long.
But see for see prophecies of me lost in Chaucer, Keets, Frost, and probably Dawson’s creek.
Secrets keep confidant apart of concrete process.
Rap sure ain’t marked, but remarkably I see myself being raptured when it’s all sew and seem.
So it seems all said and gone
No song could wrongfully promise me rememory.
Keep Conscious.
The saga’s oh so long.
The series peak in progress.
I wonder if this week I’ll meet God.
Or keep Conscious.

Andrew Wallace

Andrew Wallace


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