Nesting my inner ear disorder

My brain oozes meaning

feeding chicks on coffee

that I drank last year.

A dog sniffs at my intent

and runs like a bat out of water

and I form snowballs

of steamed loathing

pornogrifying

A crow

that sleeps in my mind.

This was written in the 10th grade around the time of Summit's annual Bad Poetry Contest, held during the ides of March. Every year, the sophomore class writes a handful of intentionally bad poems, and one is chosen as the absolute worst and prized at the Lupercal festival, in which the boys of the class run a race in the name of fertility. None of my poems were entered.

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