When I was a teen dropout
From a too-pricey college,
I tried to console myself
By cultivating my own
Well-considered tastes
In lieu of being
Well educated.
Max Ernst’s works appealed to me
Because I never could guess
From one to the next
That this one was indeed his.
I thought of that as genius.
Une semaine de bontè still
Props a shelf, gathering dust.
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