oh highs, oh low-down shelves,
lose H, remember aches and carry
on with vague intimations that
natural language is an obscene
dichotomy --- spare, strike, ball,
goal; a confederacy of once certain
ways of considering one self among
many, top wealth or influence, the
mark of a universe in a single purse;
on second, third, thirty third thought
ought to become turns tail and heads
onto sought, been, and now simmer
as broth, cool enough not to burn or
spoil, for as many years as more
bones find themselves written
onto more paper --- thank the
trees, they are family, closer
than the deity that once seemed
in-hand when the head tingled
just behind each ear: that was
a complex, one building's worth
of problems, solutions, and axes
ground down to handles
Roman Ryan 