Posted on 19 April 2010

How the late entrants drone in the night school,
Proletariat paradise, thick blue time.
Indeed, perhaps, how long,
Are we to recollect with them and others, in one language?
Triangular milk, lids and medals,
It is better to live cramped up, knees to chin.
Those, who tap danced on our ceiling,
In places also were and at times became.

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