It beats a pie for visual accuracy
Acuities swerve down pipeline lanes
Assured of their oily, grease-pit destinations
Up and up and no more curves
Desired by the most among us
Assuming the remainder
Accept a naturalistic explanation
For that which has been taken from
Everything some once held dear
Measure of salutary duty
Votary public: verified in the
Sands of grime
Sold to the lyest bidder
In truth, there was no ideal
In the haystack of our needling souls
Comedy made an appearance
To assuage the guilty, angry, pleasant
Who might otherwise redirect their
Boredom to tearing apart the papers
That pre-wrote the first three lines
Of every obituary up next
Roman Ryan 