When the wax can't stand the kitchen,
hold out the wick
and receive the conflagration
as a whole-house defenestration
in which the window glows with the former
formality of the dinette set's no-bet
at this blackjack table's twenty two.
We lost. We always lost. That is how
the game looks from here. And when we
think of our times and the upcoming times
as things that happened already, we become
more steady in the face of this place's repetitions.
Is history a circle? Will the nomads become
the tapeworms of a new anarchy? To be inside
the stomach is to be an acidic baster, turkeyless,
stuck without enough desert, with a too-listless marsh,
also.
Despair nods at disquiet on its way down to the
next triangle. To circle a triangle is a lot easier
than sphering a square. Cubes root out the faded
definitions in this frail dictionary. What does it mean
always precedes can the world be saved.
Roman Ryan 