And still, I dream.
She told me of the man
Haunted by floating steps and
Math, lights down for one year.
How he exclaimed her to be
A Victim
But her age knew better;
You’ve heard this before.
We jotted down the spell and
Cast
Into depths, turned shallow.
Tweak your methods-
There’s no tradition, there.
And as I dream
I remember
The broken pencils,
Traded for ink and gossip.

Jan. 28th