I, object,
sigh, dejected,
at the tower's base
an up-turned face
made of less material
than all of the above and below.
I reject
my lie's conjecture:
composure composes
stable notes. My nose
smell the music, little
hairs vibrating in time
to hear the subject's name.
I inspect
trial defects
a randomized troll vial
filled with gills and bills and chills
dietary in restriction: less food
for more hunger, delivered in
forty ate hours. Past, beyond tense,
fenced, glassed, glossy and harassed;
without ignoring cause and effect,
I am other plausible circumspections.
Roman Ryan 