It's repugnant.
That's me.
An it, and repugnant.
I'm sure of it, at 5:46 AM.
That's until the next three hours
is spent in slumber covered towers.
Then I know I was mistaken,
stirred to life and then unshaken.
Couplet crowns will crow and snow,
icy roads are phallic prose.
Long and slipped into a crass
orchestra without the brass,
cave and fire and Plato's fate
Socratic maybe throttled gate.
Rank the people then go low,
perpetrate the valor slow.
That's the fully lighted path
validated by our math.
Fuzzy thoughts will gore the chest
unless your pension's fully vest.
Coffee and awake,
I lost my threads
under a pile
of regrets
and expectations.
I don't so anyway.
Roman Ryan 