All Aboard 

The struggle bus is leaving soon. 
We’re all mad here, I fear, most 

mad and moonly. Sit down, let’s 
whine and dine just fine until we

get fed up with empty cups and 
lack of clack. The trick: to click 

your heels together and pretend 
there’s no place. No game. No 

rules, including gravity. Let’s fly
and try our hands at something 

not quite so hard. We’ve bought 
a bus and we’ll save you a seat un

-til this journey’s found a place to
be. A plus: we’re in good company. 

::
In November, we poem. Sometimes it’s a struggle.

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