As I sit in bed reading the American Night , all I can think about is that there are too many noises around me. The trees grow full and The birds scream to beat the hammers. Up and down the stairs stroll the scholars and future scholars. A bee sniffs the ashes and the butts. I listen to the conversations as they pass, making out just enough to that they make no sense.
Shadows cling to the stairs Like gum to a desk.
Reminding us to do what we are told.