So familiar the sparks of inspiration about to bloom
Horripilation and several empty soup cans tip me off

My time has come to be prolific,
under the wise tutelage of my angelic spektor

Accompanied by the wailing hormones of pre-pubescent boys trying to sing into microphones

Teacher please, spare a verb? Where the ivy used to crawl up fragile arms sanguine for all intents and purposes

Dear teacher, nothing electronic works in my room anymore
Dear teacher, your students are all ******
Dear teacher, I retain your lessons as lacerations upside my skull
Sweet teacher, reposing just across the hall and sideways a spell
In a coffin of criticisms and carbon monoxide fumes

The love of a generation, a single blue rose, and a jar full of tea 30 years old.