Which way to the ends of the earth,
I asked the map
It seemed puzzled
Talking me in circles
Don't expect me to guide you anywhere,
You can go, but I don't have any ends,
Definitively stated, no countries, youth, human
Means, perhaps, a process overlaid on a place
But can repetition be greater than digging holes in the sand?
A wonderful past time, for past times
Nostalgia doesn't escape boredom velocity
Nods are dead; what can I shake my head to?
Value is vulnerable, I'll take a whack at it
Exchanges, marketing: monetary docility
Is there a way beyond without giving up everything?
Attachment without equivalence: secret handshakes
This water boils at all sorts of temperatures:
Hot, cold, freezing
Obscurely, the trail reveals itself
To a land over the edge of the navigable
I tumble in, to an unknown state
Roman Ryan 