Spooky poetry inspired by the market sandwich


alamy stock photo

Last weekend, our writer Tyler Raso put dozens of Thrill headlines into a bot, and then forced the bot, against its and our will, to generate content for us. Every day this week, one article on the site will be one of the prompts the bot generated. These are our stories.

Peers, friends, lovers. How does one even begin to broach the subject of the market sandwich? How does one even look one in the eye and dare to love? I am at a loss, at a standstill. Where do I start? At the lettuce? The bread? The Thousand Island dressing? I must confess I’ve never felt this way about anything before. A love like this is a burden. It haunts me, consumes me, fills me with something dark and urgent, and, Reader, I am afraid.

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Vaguely Kenyon-themed Poetry Inspired by rupi kaur


Me, performing a poem

Dear reader. I think so much. It gets uncomfortable in my head with all those thoughts taking up so much space. I put my thoughts in poems so my brain doesn’t get squished by the weight of childhood memories consisting of me holding a stick in various locations and reruns of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Poems are like little glass jars filled with pickled organs. And the organs are so pickled, they’re almost translucent. As Bryce Shivers and Lisa Eversman of Portlandia fame once said, We can pickle that.” That’s just beautiful. I made a custom embroidered pillow on the internet which says “We can pickle that.” I didn’t buy it though. One day, the whole world will be pickled. You can just dump stuff in a poem and then forget all about it. And then get famous while people theorize about your sexuality.

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“Farm Fresh, Student-Raised”: Haikus to Soothe your Eggy Soul

Over the past few weeks, I have been passionately devouring each and every Kenyon Farm email. They perfectly capture the beauty and valor of the humble Egg, then provide us (mere students!) with an opportunity to adopt at least a half dozen tiny wonders of our own. For a meager sum, we, too, can celebrate the miracle that is The Egg. And it’s all thanks to them.

These emails have become important to me, so much so that I decided to celebrate them through verse. Each word of the following haikus has been hand-picked from the many phrases contained within the Farm’s glorious correspondences. Travel with me through the highs and lows of Kenyon’s most heartwarming saga: The Journey of the Farm-Fresh Egg.

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