a moon, worn as if it had been a shell

Buster Keaton, absurd behind bars

I'm currently involved in a scintillating argument with the Powers that Be, trying to prove that an erroneous statement on an important document that says "mild retardation" should actually say "severe retardation" and thus be shuffled onto another pile altogether, the pile that warrants a bit more help, some protective supervision is what it's called and might be the cause, the reason for the extra help to prevent the sort of fall that causes bloody noses, bruised and bumped. Said argument entails numerous telephone conversations and back and forths, the requesting of letters and papers with official stamps, the clock keeps ticking eighteen months, the choice between acceptance of mild and wanting severe making my heart shrink, grow cold and a layer of bars.