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