When I think about shame
I feel ashamed of all the names
I have called my
self.
I fall off the page
into abstract space
and didactic time
until I remember
I am one preposition
and the name of my father
away from grinding down
my tears.
There is sand in my glass.
I remember getting sucked out
a quarter mile from shore
in the so-called Pacific;
I was rescued.
I want to be
rescued again
rather than recuse my
self
from the courtroom's life
that goes beyond
conviction.
Looseness offers
my only way up
from tautness.
I can be taught.
I only need reach
for something other
than ought.
Roman Ryan 