guarantees cooling down. Pendula
string weight along until gravity
decides to give up on guppy ghosts.
Where there are goldfish, there were
silver wishes for dollars and collars,
domination and diminution,
restitution and abomination.
Vulgar larks become singing isms
all too prepared to become schisms
of becoming: all change is a cliffside,
losing its rock to the bellows of the
bottom, a squeeze box certified to
continue the conflagration that
some would like to stop and others
would care for, if they had the dimes.
Given dimes, heaviness becomes
the face of the thermometer. Something
about mercury and revenge against
the day. Damn you, definite day. You
fucked us. Indeterminacy could have
remained, but this measured clarity
will disappear, along with the holders
of all these stopwatches and scales.
Roman Ryan 