Dimensional being, what time is it?
You watched your clock and waved your hands
and voila, the guide to our troubles
disappeared.
Now where can we go?
It's a question, hard edged, right angled,
thrown with malevolence
to cut the paper's filament
otherwise known as text.
Writer?
Poet?
Artificially Intelligent?
That's a didactic view, boss.
Status gave you a job
and anxiety helped your keep it.
Teacher-student sorts of things.
Some will bow to power
to gain it
while the rest rest
on octagonal laurels
merely learning to read the red sign:
S
T
O
P.
Roman Ryan 