"Unmorose today,
I see." The bartender
does not pore. Anchor
wood inflates on water
and ice and sunlessness.
"Narrator, another beer.
You poor as well as the
next rich." Dictate my
drunk, another sameness
hanging over my next
morning. Converse(ly)
with each art, come up
with continuity: a conver
sation is mean when the
average time is less than
another seated stool.
Corner market: mono
poly saccharine brew,
carrier of the grieving
dew, we wait for wind
in sailing shipboard seats
while obliteration chases
us from home to outside
of any minute now.
Roman Ryan 