What is the game of the name?
It's the cloture, the frozen motion,
the final managerial ocean.
A series of metaphors
propagated along a
soundless phrase
giving mince to the meat
and pence to the peat
bogging down the holders
with colder shoulders
and billowing out like a
bellowing trout
giving too much music too little rhyme
until it all sounds an owlet's whine.
Let it seethe, proctors.
It's a doctor of a horse,
an option in the worst,
a sausage of the cursed,
a devil detail that will not
be revealed
until every haystack turns blue with flame.
Roman Ryan 