One can spend one's one life
In a staredown with good and evil
Thumbs up or down on better, worse
That's a toilet toil
Down the drain sight line
To be the ultimate valuator!
There's a catch: you'll be meaning-free
The jury is only out for five minutes on the judge:
Guilty of a conspiracy to rob the self of spontaneous joy
You had help, from society and its instruments
Playing in this sad band
Your continuous funeral dirge
Digressions are the way out
Back to arbitrary criteria
And away from those robes to naked glee
The living sleep snowfell, moonstruck, flowerspell
Illuminated by dreams that couldn't imagine
A fine or ill distinction
Roman Ryan 