Gainful purposes are cacti:
Slow growth meets bloody handlers
And as little water
And as much light
As can be remembered.
So it hurts and crawls
Am I there yet?
Another line
And another bind
And yet another snap.
I buried my heart
In the marsh's creek
And his teeth
Were evident
Between the dust and grass.
Can't I mourn?
Can't I forget?
My target is a tattoo
Whose verifier
Will no longer check.
Am I supple or a seed?
A forest or the tree?
Without an arc
I slip off the sphere
A tangent to that grave.
Roman Ryan 