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Three Middle-Aged Men Of A University Town
Andrew Grossman |
We gas it on the roof,
Full blast laugh tunes
on Dr. Krombel's Co-Ed Radio-Telescope Zoom.
Springtime! Cumming in our lungs,
Enwrapping the daughter-aged girls below
With fantasies of girls we knew.
Don't flee! we're not sickos,
mostly harmless,
we choose to climb up blossom-branched trees.
Hazing up beneath on Real Street,
slow Dr. Holman with his brief -
didn't we have him? didn't he nab us once
getting high on the balcony of the president's manse?
He negates our massed joyousness.
He exudes the phrase, 'Party Adjourned.'
In biblical terms, he sucks like the Red Sea
Opening for Moses.
Let's study these bird-self daydreams.
There's a paper here,
Called: 'Holy Wanderers Steering Blindly.'
Think of living twenty feet off the ground,
Not clinging to shingles, not needing caution -
Dr. Genn, please stop coughing.
Go ahead, wheeze out your ego,
we three are one, or so.
We pulse inside, dip our wilted toes
Into a scarcity of space, announce:
Our warrior cry: 'WE STAYING!'
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