Evergreen tree of confident synthesis
pouring forth needles with sophistication
to drive the point home, this land
is mine, can't you see the dogged line?
Fine-toothed combs gathering dust
this broad brush strokes well past
the canvas. Commentaries, sidelong
fountain inquiries, penny thoughts
unpaid, however, this labor delivered.
Concern, concerning whom, to
whom it may; wonder you may.
Wander, I will, to power?
Perhaps if these teeth connect to the gear
driving the rear wheel, all four spin.
Then publicly, in telling;
delectable, hors d'oeuvre:
the main a tome that no one has survived.
Pages and pages, it never arrives;
ask away, answers wind up the mountain,
skiing back down, aplomb, re-routed.
Roman Ryan 