This carafe not quite full
Now quite emptied out
More words I’ll pull
This morning’s rout
But I missed the bells
For twelve near thirteen
So now this realm
Can spell noon’s fifteen
For it’s sometimes a quarter
Mendaciously slacked
A rope in the order
A memory wracked
For neurons or something
I don’t care to know
It ebbs and edges
Not at all flow
But that we’re empty
On this crowded street
Preemptively dainty
Homeward I’ll meet
On the edge of the order
But I don’t know well
Cautious this boarder
Back to the swell
The tide goes out
Yet sometimes in
I don’t know the moon
But that face is of gin
Tonic my water
And bubble it up
Proposition seven forty
A law in the cup
Roman Ryan 