In the sea of desks
there is talk of bags and games
and long pipes that leak dreams
with the strike of a match.
And there is a loudness to the whispers I hear.
Whispers shouldn’t be that loud, should they?
There is a girl over there who everyone knows,
And men without ears will stand by the door for a price.
In long hallways there are angry mobs of dwarves and rats
and one single angel