Hello, dearly poetic, we are not gathered
to mix
I have missed our blurs, so I offer one
at odds with paper
Language, yes, a distraction and a critical
eyesight
Spurn the outside, we are inside for these
graying sentences
Narrator, one more drink
We thirst
Drunk now, send along my loves
with a lavender bouquet
Distress fields the wind
and maples sugar our waffling
Uncertainty is our guide to destiny
where death breathes its first
Infinite, or at least massive, cosmoses
recommend osmosis to our membranes
Roman Ryan 