dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: college

Twenty seven we sit,
Styrofoam solar systems 
Within cinderblock walls,
Trying not to lose our colors by
Orbiting as planned, 
Spinning eyes over the room
While paint, like sand,
Crumbles from hardened shell to 
Seats nearby.
Questioning if we represent
The magnitude of our paper labels,
We planets ponder
The implications of our majors,
Galaxies beyond
Our comprehension.

Have a creaky seat
five from the middle,
biology back row.

Enjoy your 
lab supplement 
two hours each Tuesday,
this class for non-majors
is really too easy
unless, of course,
you dislike
or do not understand
electron configuration,
genetic diseases, 
and theories concerning
the common descent of man. 

Feel free to descend
to the ape-like behavior
of the other science-haters
in your laboratory section

or with your lab partners
mentally decompose
as you watch the caterpillar
you were supposed to help grow
into a bright butterfly

rot in its own poop,
swirled like dark mold
in a food mixture
that resembles applesauce  
blended in a small scoop
of tapioca pudding.

This appetizing image
you can recall 
when dieting
or listening
to the lecture portion
of this four hour credit
in Kivett Hall.

The ninety minute classes
are quite entertaining-
glaring white slides
filled with words
pertaining to Na and Cl, 

how Pb & J lead to obesity
which could aggravate
almost as well as
cumulative exams
on irrelevant information,

and the PowerPoint presentation
is also verbose
about morose human conditions
that are fascinatingly gross, 

it’s filled with pictures taken 
with powerful zoom
of colorful pus
and other effects
of diseases that loom
like questions
from classmates
who think the room
waits for their insight.

“Bio” means life
“Logy” means study
”Section 101” is
An old DaVinci code joke,
the translation is vague,
but many have spoken
concerning the nature
of this aged academic attempt
to poke fun at the student
who’s not biologically bent
or chemically inclined 
to develop a

There’s a pattern in the mold beneath the sunset paint,
The cracks above fold like rivers into a dark sea
Rank with rotting fishy skins.
This water boils the dinner plates
Clean again
After a meal of swamp sauce and
Reeds steamed with the heavy green air
For our dinner on the marsh banks,
Not for the fair or faint of heart.

We are not significantly
Different than starfish.
Basically besides development,
We’re emphatically
The same.

We swim in wind
And spin
With all five points into the blue.
And nothing’s new
And we’re not old
Under the sun.

When I die
I think I’d like to
Dry out on warm sand,
Then when as hard as bones,
On sea foam
Float away.

Crowded message boards fill

Three complicated stories of

Freshman girl gossip,

Loud music,

And me.

With a man cave of a lobby,

This scented

Breeding ground for texts,

Not the academic kind,

Will surely crumble

In the summertime silence.

Ageless, or rather
Every awkward age,
Every noise,
Every cage
They clang on top
Of my head,
My bed groans
Under the weight
Of so many sounds,
Pillows clash like cymbals
Against both ears,
But as I mash my mind
Against the mattress,
I wait to hear
Something interesting.

We were
All toes yesterday.
Busy schedules and deadlines
Squished us together
In a pair of
Too-tight tennis shoes,
Covering us in
A hot layer
Of sweat and stress,
Each hunched over
By the common bond
Of forward movement and littleness,
Of chipped nail polish
And blisters.


Colored lights

Wash each head,

Ignite every eye,

Tattoo bodies.

We all reach

For prophecy,

For empathy,

For A stronger beat

To pump our blood.

Like a computer popup with emoticons,

The gray square of space

Around his desk is filled

With a million attention grabbing

Facial quirks

And smirks.

The professor,

A self-proclaimed


Repeatedly clicks

This student’s round face with those

Bright blinking eyes and wildly waving arms

As soon as the class logs in

To serious discussion.

Circling their peer’s massive head

With laser beam glares,

Students try to warn

The excited instructor

Of the virus lurking beneath

His sparkling student’s

Gleaming smile,

But the class files and lecture notes

Have already been hacked

With overriding irrelevance

From an animated,

Obnoxious pop-up


A mockery of thrift,

Money wads are spit

Through the golden straw

Of the university,

Blown with hot air

That drifts freely,

Especially in highly intellectual

Conversations regarding

Cash and paychecks,

Lots of renovating,

Landscaping improvements,

Charging more

For housing, tuition, books,

From the poor

College students

Who can only sit staring

At the giant slobbery cash-wad

Stuck on each classroom’s ceiling.