Thank you, too, source of intellectualized
vagaries, they were the path to approval
and your approbation, and I said good
enough day until the ninety ninth per
centile came home in the mail again
and you were able to make the ass
umptions you needed to make. That
was a way and continues to be my
way, but you were really dealing with
your broken, smoked-out, token
gleams, that wished on dreams that
refused to come true on the dust
of the ashes that you would never
even smell to bury (hence the
smoking and the idea of chains).
Thank you again, and I'm sorry.
That requisite apology for slipping
into the irons that come so easily,
and of course I mean not that so
common element, but its why,
its y-added satire, its cynical
response that might lead to a
few minutes of repose in the
towel closet when you were
actually around and my disappointments
could pause feeding
your disheart.
Roman Ryan 