I might stupor in pot and steep in liquor,
Wrinkling in on my own enhancements,
Lit-preliminary before a drop stings my tongue,
Before a wisp of smoke swirls past my teeth.
Yet, it is not consistently fascinating
When there is nothing else to counter it.
Everything deserves a balance.
I melt my brain as soon as I expand it,
I solidify it once it shrinks.
Pursue academia, or chase the night with chasers?
I will choose both, thank you, and let each buoy the other.
Academia promotes the technical ability to write well,
And experiences breathe life into the content.
I refuse the concept “one or the other,”
Pretension or waste;
Separate, that is fact, and surely dismal.
But together, wildly lucrative, gainful,
I will flock to evening readings, presentations of researched thought,
Art showcases in abundance, a composer’s live exhibit of his soul,
And any knowledgeable sharing keen to accompany me:
Eager to include all others, embracing us in culture,
Intoxicated with the chance to grow our intellect.
Then, I will celebrate as I see fit,
With explosive flourish,
Or through bright, aspiring, perhaps hallowed moments.
My process will be complete,
It will repeat,
And it will only end when I do.