The nose will not be clear again.
This is a run that will stay runny,
a joke that was never funny,
a smoke that you can never
unsmoke. Gunsmoke? Whichever
kind. The burden will not be
kind. It's not that kind of
burden. The struggle to push
this rock up this hill is enhanced
by the stone in the shoe. Do not
rue the extra pain on top of this
mud rain. The stack of lack packs
mule to help, if you only can look
and be. Simple nonsense. You and I,
we are in this. Together is a matter
of our state of find. Will we find
our minds in tandem? Will our
tendencies bend our poignancies
toward or away? Another matter
for the nose to abide. Yes, there will
always be stink. Do not think you can
rose it all down. That's not just my
opinion here in the pinyon pines.
This rack and pinion situation
breaks every one into more
fragments. Be the fragmentation
and do not seek augmentation too
hard. Then you break hard. Better
to shatter soft. Like a pillow aloft,
sans case. This sentence case is a case
of a death sentence, that one complete
phrase that we are all guaranteed to share,
along with our taxes, our sweet, green taxes.
Roman Ryan 