The man on the bus has a knife.
He opened his coat
and took it out of his belt.
Blade long and

‘Neath Beech and Sycamore,
Through the peppered shadows, flickered patches of evening sun,
We walk

When I dreamed,

I found your grave,

so easily.

Old teacher of mine,

I just knew the

Isn’t it good to know that everything follows the pattern?
That we are snug and secure in our

If in this doll’s house ever I scream out
I am gagged with marshmallow clouds
And made to