They are talking about T.V. at a table
in a common room where no one else
can stomach anymore of them.
They are an unpopular club
that unofficially should not have the time
to meet or even speak about
the signal that’s received at every broadcast.

The decoration committee is stuffing
straw into some old clothes
making scarecrows they can hang
throughout the hallways,
and the outside of the windows
looking in.

The freshmen have to walk through empty
parking lots they aren’t allowed to be in
just to get out to the place where all their
cars are parked but haven’t run for months.
They plug new parts into the engines
with the hope they are less broken
than the old ones and when they aren’t
they all forget about the places
they were going.

The council in a darkened room
decides what should be taught
and every thought they can’t control
will be a monster chasing everyone away.
The other day I thought I saw
a hawk standing on a fraying wire
tired from the flying and the trying
to live up to all the stories.

Every memory of this stage has been
refracted into something mixed
with movie scenes and half remembered
dreams that kind of haunt you
like the shade is just a shadow
of whatever can surround you
in the sun.

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