By increments,
what do you think? Can you call my failures
what they are
early enough
to make a little evolution?
Sounds less than humble?
Tell me.
I propose a purpose:
not sweeping;
one little brush.
Poetry cannot have a reason
but a poem can.
Ply the words for ineffable scents
and determine what sounds
are vibrating through
invisible doors.
Feed back!
That's either thrown up
or dropped down,
with a little analysis
and a yes or no response.
So binary is the confusion
of this language trope
that fractal mornings
can only lead to globule night.
Roman Ryan 