College is teaching me
about the genesis of Christianity from the uterus of shamanism,
that gneisses start as heated granite,
the capitols of Spanish-speaking countries,
and that eight hours of sleep is 50% necessary
and 50% time better spent
celebrating a twenty-second birthday
burnt out in a backyard shed
or discussing eggs over toast at Harbor House
sometime between midnight and three am,
all while falling into bad habits
like insomnia and love.
Casey Holman doesn’t care what they print about her, as long as they spell her name right. Her work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Rougarou, Full of Crow, Cannoli Pie, Nerve Cowboy, and Don’t Forget the Chapstick (Bank Heavy Press).
© 2011, Casey Holman