Loose grips divide trips;
there can be no aphorism
without a promise premised
on inevitable, permanent
Promethianisms.
This promenade's apolitical strides
ride donkeys across incontinental divides,
weighed down by burdens and beasts
whose least bleats curdle
even the softest seat.
Sit back, then. There
will be no assiduousity
offered on this flight from
fancy, on this journey to the
center of the worthless. There
can be no middle there,
no halfway without measure,
no treasure without the expectation
of future pleasure. Do not go
if you cannot let go
because to have gone
ensures release.
Roman Ryan 