A thick weave, cloudy with the beige sand and collectibles swelled to death while birth cried already with hair and a hunchback cushioned in the dust blown by the hot and cold wind of the rain and tide, swelling, swelling with red and layer after layer of clock wood and numbers, wood and numbers, and as the checkered flag flopped alongside the scythe and its wind, the mountains shaped a laugh in the form of shadow as an eclipse burned the cow casually jumping over the moon and milk man, the man who was already late for his next delivery and breasts waiting at home which curdled in sync with all that survived from the past and glory of the classroom with its wormy apples and termite desks, mothy books and screaming chalk, and even a blank flag to salute to, black and blank, hanging by the cumulative moisture that develops into the invisible stalactite of wrong answers or close answers, and cheat sheets or clues, study guides, mankala, dice, russian roulette, which all seems to drip into one small hole in the ground labeled ENTRANCE with the two letters X and I scattered off to the side as if there was a rush to deem names that seem accurate but really matter about as much as a good cussword or lamprey parasite both found in the one book broken into sections for the convenience of learners and custom, both found to have developed along the same lines as religion, war and sacrifice, marriage, seppuka, and zoos with stain-glass cages and a bean stalk disappearing into the sky littered with ticker-tape and stormy clouds that when clumped together correctly can form a sundial in the shape of a bridge with the design of a castle’s mote without the castle but a long stretch of eggs on plates (*) accompanied by napkins of lightning and a full of thunder – yes, this is TIME, the triumph of TIME, and the are-her-you-him-they-us-we-it of TIME, ticking with the tongues of the planets at the speed of light, waving its way through the black matter matching the flag in the classroom of glory where to learn means to live and to teach means to share, hand in hand with the alignment of infinity available through the two mirrored walls of what we have called out the barber shop.