I only want to be an acid western.
I’m applying to internships instead of reading poetry; prosaic needs scream.
Beginning to understand the garish offices, their walls filled with sparkling quotes meant to stir some person into a passionate outburst.
Can’t afford to explode. Theory and Shakespeare are knocking at my door, what respectful soul would let them wait?
"I made up the guest bed for you both. We’ll be here awhile."