Some purposes
are pain. I would
rather bottle
noses than box
dolphins. My
memories ask.
I try not to
answer. Even
with a good question,
No. So, goals are
white holes, roles
that I have left
for they were and are
unright. In
sight, I feel
sound. On this
ground, I can
hound toward a
scent that is not
as bent as the recently
cleaned bathroom of a
recently built office. That,
and the dim light of a dim
intention, I banal into the
banishment of a garnished
page in this wet book. With
a few more turns, we will
epilogue together
for as many pages
as we remain.
Roman Ryan 