Head-on looks
collide with serious
books, trudging
between rhythms
and their precursors.
Explanations are allowed
to spin down the toilet,
in that Australian or
Northern hemispheric
tradition.
Gravity is a ritual, just
as well as righteousness,
and either makes rigid
the holder until a
sufficient distance has
been achieved.
Ability must be determined,
but intent holds its buts
like a spade in a hand of
hearts, wishing to join
the club that only
acknowledges diamonds.
Can the second person
be distinguished from
the first in a crowded
photograph? Not without
a little narrator to recommend
an easier childhood.
Roman Ryan 