High Low School

I dreamt hard, catastrophic dreams.
Only in a localized hurricane might I be
noticed from the news.

The aid might have been a partner
shipped with haste
to convex my concavities 
and banish external 
my prickly preachy demons.

The hallways were a secret game:
without running, I would dodge
to be untouched by eyes or backpacks
and in my earliness
prepare my hand to raise.

I lived dully catastrophic hours
where dreams rang silent
and disappointment tolled.