Atop a tree, there was a deer, wagging tail alert to
its precarious circumstance. Thus lived a fragile
state, known result predicted and possible outcomes
interdicted. Words press reality: don't lie. That's the
joke-den's smell; reefs and beefs quaffed by resonant
mackerels. Fish see sound in color, hue and whiners
dedicated to mirthlessness. Way, what kind? The
religious, spiritual mandate, naked empire full
to shim with nay say clay players, unwilling
and unable to reveal to the state: clothes
neither become you nor bestride you.
Roman Ryan 