math teller,
tell mr. heat:
"halt, melter!
let her malt
melt her wealth!"
he'll matter!
When Mike Valerio, an L.A. bass player who is a guest at New World for the alumni reunion concert this week, offered to buy me a cup of coffee before our evening rehearsal yesterday, I probably should not have said yes. I was up until 2 am, rearranging the letters of my name to form short phrases, which I strung together to create this really bad poem. I guess I inherited my mom's low tolerance for caffeine, along with her delight in poetic nonsense.
tell mr. heat:
"halt, melter!
let her malt
melt her wealth!"
he'll matter!
When Mike Valerio, an L.A. bass player who is a guest at New World for the alumni reunion concert this week, offered to buy me a cup of coffee before our evening rehearsal yesterday, I probably should not have said yes. I was up until 2 am, rearranging the letters of my name to form short phrases, which I strung together to create this really bad poem. I guess I inherited my mom's low tolerance for caffeine, along with her delight in poetic nonsense.
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