Judgements are applications to be
admitted to the bureaucracy of the wise,
but in this land, your path must never
alter after the one crucial fork,
a spoon unalterably stirring the
honeyed knives in your cup, prepared
to glance off of you all the way
down, a developmental strategy that
will cause most to remain in
place, while those most similar
to the treetops will become
treetops them-cells, waving
delighted in the winds of organ
-ization, mechan-ically
unable to see the stasis in their
assumptions of the freedom not
given freely as a gift, but
rather as a bloody guilt for all
that came before, a bloody
crown worn by the bloodless,
without account for another
type of future, the top of a
game that makes each of its
players into a stoppage for the
remainder of their deathless lives.
Edited from the original.
Roman Ryan 