in the still blaring classroom

I stand up in my chair

  raise

I         my hand in my

                                 pocket

and look at myself

my bag, 

my breasts,

my board,

my door, 

my friend,

my pen,

my teacher,

my floor,

I look at my-

my vision;

               Blizzard

                           Buried

                                     Scattered

                                                    Cataracted

my air;

          Straggled

                         Bagged 

                                     Crushed

                                                   Heavy 

my eyes;

              Drooped

                           Deflated

                                        Lethargic

                                                      Slow

my hands;

                Roamed

                             Fidgety

                                        Frigid

                                                 Cold

With the rise of my shirt, white and all right

The dark consumes

And the 4 

  the vision;

                             the air

                                                the eyes

                                                                     the hands

will reach me and close to me what I should subsume.