there is one place where the it is going on
it being so many things at once
it is the contour of the human landscape
the itness cannot be articulated
beyond sheering numbers
wool from the animals
that uniformly cry
these are not the pejorative animals
of fraudulent imaginations
these are the objects of the ideal
and separation into constituencies
verges on the mythical
legends etched in old brick
with underdeveloped trees lining the paved
side walking area
where i sit and consider
my place within it
Roman Ryan 