The Race - a poem from senior studio

While cleaning my room, I came across this poem I wrote one [late] night in Senior Studio:
The Race
Bowed legs harbor a slowly-stooping structure: a frame. A frame once upright, now hunched. A frame which supports a head that houses weary eyes. A head that holds a brain. A brain that is a prize-winning racehorse of which caffeine is the jockey and there is no finish line in sight. Legs shaking, body defeated, brain wild and unpredictable. It makes lists. Revives old memories. Wants further stimulation from television, but will not be rewarded. Veteran white blood cells unaware of viruses lurking ever nearer are nestled in their beds for the night while the rookies attempt to keep watch over the structure. A yawn escapes as a digital 4:24 becomes a digital 4:25. Muscles loosen and begin to relax. Teeth earlier drenched in coffee, now lay unbrushed. The brain slows to a trot as the jockey dismounts and leads it back to the stable. There will be another race tomorrow.
-2/3/09
This was scribed about the 4th week of classes...and it was only the beginning of a looooooooooong semester.