Which war might restore
our resolution?
It's a new year,
new tears,
a little more music
in our antique chair,
the basket woven backdrop
to our dinette's hell.
Our empty well
takes the death in that novel
about as well as it could.
How many more eyes
need to see these words
before they are deemed
infinite?
It's a question of syllables.
Billables.
Oh yes, we need to know
how we did
according to the money.
The money runs things
until people end this democracy
of wealth
by power.
It's inevitable,
a circle of history,
an orbital burn
always crashing through
some other atmosphere.
Roman Ryan 