Verses come out in a spree
In the same manner than practice is perfect
No recording, nie Monday morning quarterback
Even if there are football analogies
And German negations
We don't review
What goes down
When the mind is at work on parts of the body
A tautology, chronology, insipidology
Made-up to play
Retired from the game
To go infinite,
You wish,
That's religion
Hot dish
And when I connect a phrase
To a rose to a pose to my nose
It's not ideal
Don't ask for that
It's a romp
Dog park, no fence
Across fields
And forest
And urban mythology
City-rural, no resentment
Going and going and going
Walking, not even for the flaneur of it
Because this is no identity project
It's art, whatever that means
And perhaps also, depending on your point of view
Poetry
Roman Ryan 