Meaning swears by an explicable explanation.
That's what words are always gleaning, and it's
worse than it sounds. Language takes the take
and covers the rake in a single make of
leaf, a sheaf of ex-tree that sees my knees for
what they are: prepositions. Shin next to
quadricep, a quadrant hamstrung by the
area's ex and why taxes. Each element
gathers its self, separating the solid state
plate from the fork and knife of the stake
in the outcome that formerly carried all
these investors, nested, into retirement. One
wealth inside of another, crated like a sad
dog in the belly of a seven forty seven,
an eleven o'clock to Dallas and then on to
Paris, foregoing like a conclusion the free
drinks that normally come to the first class
retreater. Becoming invites getting away.
Neither can evade the other in this classy
society. Classy as in gassy. We bacteria
do not need esses to assess our plurality.
That would smell a lot more like popular
undemocratic intolerance, if it were a
political globule. No, this globule is a
globe slotting machine, a gambling
trembling rambling comma-free player,
without anger, with a vigorous orientation
toward victory. A sad way to be. A dad
way to be, badly. Can we try something
else?
Roman Ryan 