They say some live lives
Of quiet desperation
I believe there's another way
Without the total reversal
Which of course would be wonderful
But which seems like it must start
With a change in posture
And a single step
Ten thousand fervors must heat the despair
A just below the sun's surface warmth
Stated over protestation: there may not yet be sound
While silence boils over and enflames the burners
Oven mitts won't protect the hand that feeds
This turbid turpentine malaise
Compartmentalization compartments burst
Under pressures unbearable at any speed
Remembrance of things past
Flaps molten wings to candor heights
Myth dissolves and wouldn't pass a litmus test
Where this desert sand gets so hot
It turns directly to water
Sandpaper rubbed together surreptitiously
Kindled this conflagration
And only intense conviction
Marked by apocalypse struggle
Will end the prior world
To bring music to the graying chorus
Roman Ryan 