Buckets of raincoats in the desert:
Ready for any thingness that might
Pre-destine a morning in which
The time of day is repeated on
Every second hand
But you heard it third
And therefore thusly as a result
Carried the knowledge as if in a cult
Representations make mean desserts
As your cup of coffee whispers: hell is the letter
O for your ontological frictions, breaded by the fetters
That flowered on a sleeve of a favorite jacket, no longer
Waterproof, even after living a life in the dry cauldron, abstractly
Roman Ryan 