I will open my mouth and raise my hand and {without being called on—deigned to be given permission} speak gems. I will
stride down the narrow coffee-stained greenish-gray aisle of the Sistine Chapel lecture hall, students on either side gaping fish-mouthed in amazement, gills straining for knowledge and barely earned praise, gasping, gulping for achievement--
And I will walk to the front of the class, squinting
against the irradiating ambition of those surrounding me, blinded as it blinds them. We’re all horses on a track, forced forward. I will turn to the professor--
fat on self-righteousness and money grants, grabbing greedily for book rights and scholarly acclaim
And I will slap him and I will say
“This is
NOT
the way to learn.”