Seeds

These seeds are makin' us thirsty. That's probably because they're the driest seeds on record. We mean to tell ya, these are some dry seeds. All together now: how dry were they? They were drier than Steven Wright doing stand-up in the Sahara desert. We're talking dry, people. But that's probably because these seeds are a handy dandy symbols of the meaninglessness of old, formal poetry. That way of writing is dead to our speaker Petit, like a bunch of old seeds just rattling around in a dusty pod. (Anyone getting hungry? Yeah, us neither.)

• Line 1: Right from the jump, we're greeted with these very dry, very unappetizing seeds that can only make a small, insignificant sound (check out "Sound Check" for more)—much like the effect of old-time, formal poetry in our speaker's view.
• Line 16: You thought you were done with these dried-up seeds? Think again. They're back—in seed form—and just as dried and shriveled. Well, how else would you like the speaker to describe them? When it comes to old, boring, predicable poems, we think one symbol is enough, don't you?