Hank on rye

She’s getting her Masters in poetry which seems ridiculous. How peculiar to manufacture enough nonsense (?) about poems; and now you are a Master of such.

I imagine her with her theories and criticisms- a lot of scrub over a pile of words. It’s like getting a degree in egg salad. How much do you need to know? You got your eggs, you got your mayonnaise.

To aggrandize Art. Microscope it; dissect and splay it back.

A lot of work.

Me? I like my egg salad with a little mustard, and a bag of chips.

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