Does know care
or care know;
No.
The blown wind
vines around the eyes
protruding with dry
cries amplified, die.
May, may our, may we
become? Redundant?
Abundant? No place
like no place in the
heart of the loam.
That is a garden of a
different smother,
put out like a tire
ground up into
uncharted rubber
for children to eat.
Judgments! They fly!
Flight has
connotations.
Abomination!
Revocation.
Indonctrination.
There is an undoing
projection on the wall.
A signal that all those
signals were noisy
and the kind of boisterous
that can only be judged
wanting feeding failing.
What boundaries are these!
What grammars!
Hammers in hand.
Hand those fingers
their shattering future
as unfurtive as the sun
on the kind of day that
only shows its sky blue.
Roman Ryan 