Split Aces

1/3 of University—gone;
most people get to keep themselves
But me, I broke the clock, tied its hands
Gagged it, the Fucker and cried
“I learned nothing,” like I was taught.

Schooling says 60 years
might be as much as I can stand.
Wars and rights were built on less
but me and mine’re quite short-lived.
Even so, I’m a gambling man,
and the bets are always blind

Shit job, working in coffee
paying for college
with bottles made of sanity—
it’s still a job; still, it’s a job…

And the money calls me “Master” in that
seductive way a whore does
right before the debt

Got these damages, too,
Look elsewhere for those.
Those aren’t University,
Those actually teach me something.

What about after Philosophy class, with the forty crammed chairs
stuck through the ribcage and making more Eve’s for a damn
plague on knowledge?
(Why has no one learned
by now that knowledge is to suffer)

After that, maybe I get to write some more,
at least work on my epitaph. That’s something
to strive for: a perfect overhead view.

It’s got me thinking, this
hold on
22?
Should I double down?
“Fuck it, I’ll raise you…”