Hurl, O furlough.
Your temporary pause
puts paws on my jaws
clamping and tamping
the wanton desire that
I always fire on a day
that's filled with smoke.
Did you take or did you
toke? It's a matter of
crucial legal weariness.
Our fears are beers that
we drank, refilling them
with too many tears to
carbonate. Breathe less,
the air asks. There is only
so much clean. Under this
steam, this terrible lobby,
memorial Adderall buzzles
and frizzles, a little missile
of missives long past. Call it
an email of a dragon. It guards
its golden hands with the vigor
of a wagging finger, the power
of a flagging thumb. Will you
take the ride? Will you ride
and hide? Will your hide be
side? Slow. That's the only
direction that matters. Matter
becomes East and moves and
feasts. Thank you, Hemming
haw. Your way was to watch
and use your eyes to possess.
That is not the way any
more. Today's core stays
out of the store and buys
time by selling nothing.
There is no thing in this
string universe. No theory
to cover our uncertainties.
Only an open hand and an
independent land, covered
in trees unbothered by any
one but this breeze.
Roman Ryan 