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Who The Teacher Is

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I sat in the cold limbs of a desk.
I wore a sweater and the wind was blowing.
You stood at the podium in a heavy fleece,
The fleece you always wear.

And then you opened your mouth, baring a foreign tongue,
Lightning bolts flew out, and whatever you said
From then on crashed upon the ground,
The ground at your feet.

Sun rays from the clouds floated into my ears.
The lightning from your mouth flew into the rays.
And the wind as it blew freezing my skin,
Whined like an infant.

I may never know why
Our lives took a turn for the better, nor will you.
The clouds sank into my skin and my skin rose.
It is rising now.

I sway in the white air of the room,
And the piercing cry rests its head on my skin.
Your mouth and your fleece
Fall from your figure,

The desk withdraws like a dream.
The wind fits into my mouth, yet I am unsure.
The teacher who deprived my mouth of these words
May not be this teacher.





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