Ends mean good green earth
succumb to rum fires
tire fueled, insipid darkness
hearkens to backwards
as the only analogy evident
is up and up and up
Sorry, Daedalus,
you can't Persephone anymore
and the tides rocked by that
poet's satellite
are acerbic in their condemnation
everything is wrought
We bought it
we sought it
the danger is passed
like a gas from the past
and it's time to give up
its down
and conjecture
its frown
Gain and rain and pain
gathered themselves together
to prove that pavement
is what the shave sent:
a bloodied face
a rusty blade
and the end of all
that we hath made
Roman Ryan 