The falcon promises to promise the end of the line
for the small bird spine under consideration. That is
the way to enjambment: death, murder, food. Choose
less carefully, just fall, trust the call of the mild wild,
the crow cobblestones, now completely free of
chicken bones. I wonder if there are enough
tones to offer a picnic bench of a sunrise to
this afternoon. The sun is already high, it
should probably not smoke any more, but
fusion's demands are always in fusion. The
continuous stream of human births go by
in prams, carriages, and message carriers,
assuring that language and infants both
continue to offer the continuity they
promised before that pigeon died.
Roman Ryan 