all a teacher can do is learn and live,
see.
Situationical, long ago, tradition
Teachers tell stories,

with force. Whacks and such.

The reason, once, one time,
the ruler to the knucks
was to loosen a stuck clutch o'

clingers to the edge, who knew what
could be known,
who were
witnesses,taught to see

perceiving sub til ity plowing furrows

through explosions of new math,
new bombs, new moms,

new wars for no reasons, the edge
clinger fingers

let go, just before

a teacher who
they knew learned,
as he lived,
to hear whos
beyond the bubble's edge.

slip

yet no sense

    {clique}
Filter Heinlein through Vonnegut,
squeeze the dregs,

sort each bubble by whos heard.

--Suess, a gain, point ought ever one,

heare that? That is an echo. A bubble pop echo,
in the halls of all imagined worlds

redeemed by children seeing the meaning

wave form on the GB scale storys are sung to.
Waiting is, on the BE scale

the ceiling leaks in the poet's prison,
but his window faces west,
so he is pleased to watch
the wind he claimed

bring rain. And so it goes.
How long do stories live these days?,

Asked the peacemaker, in the distance.