All the knowledge I should have gotten over the semester
– learned in the four days leading up to finals
All the things I wanted to do in my years at USC, but never got around to
– Done in the one week between finals, and my apartment tossing me out.
A large pile of possessions - a small car to carry it all back to Seattle.
Cram.
Makes me feel older – like a cram-pa.
Makes me feel political - like a politician on the cram-paign trail.
Makes me feel like Jackie Gleason – playing Ralph Cram-den.
People always want me to cram.
You want me to cram in a tiny 2-bedroom with four other guys? Fine.
You want me to cram this big sleeping bag into this little carrying case?
Fine.
You want me to cram… all that gram… into golden grams? Nobody
knows how to do that.
You want me to cram all my thoughts into ten syllables a line? I don’t
think so.
My ten syllables is actually twenty, or something like that.
My… ten… syll-a-bles… is…act-u-a-lly….
You want me to count? I don’t wanna do that either.
There are more than ten syllables in my pen.
Just like there are more then ten silly bulls in the pen of that famous matador
whose name I can’t recall.
Those nutty matadors – they all do that – putting too many bulls
in the pen.
I call them all cookies.
‘cuz that’s the way the cookies cram bulls.
Look at the word ‘cram.’
C-RAM
I saw a ram once. I wasn’t impressed.
Just stood there – I threw a rock at it – and it didn’t
Dodge.