Under whose circumstances
the dances the dances our chants
our chances become our changes
these magnificents mango on
under the least yellow sky
to under-develop its theory
of nothing and nothing and nothing
We held our hands together
our own hands and we realized
warmth as metaphor as semaphore
our sinecure insecure levering extra
anxiety onto our empty plates will we
starve we will not this fear sleepless fear
sleeves rolled too tight small sleeves
too plastic too domestic too tragic
Hold hands with dance
dance the vertigo to swell
with the green on the green
on the bark on the bite on the tree
the crow tree in the near-distal
biting like teeth into my eyes
may they soon be our eyes
Roman Ryan 