Shakespeare I
The marks on the page are such
That i find myself to be much
impressed, sir. If you even were one
person to talk to, ever. I can't remember
if that is still a viable theory. I am afraid
to ask. The class is still, silent, and very briefly
illuminated. I will never pull the cord
hanging from the lampshade.
There is some precipice I stand myself on
that swings wildly, me carrying, through dawn.
I finish the latest comedy in-between a yawn
and an urge to know my fellows, know something
worth knowing.
And are you that?
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