A quickening
sounds good. Will we drop,
beaten? It smells like green
spirits. Absent synths, wood
you call it natural; a natural
genuine genius! Grant me
gargantua! Grace, ha. That's
a sinecure without synecdoche.
Wholly boots wholly ground
down to the point where we
will run some hot water through
and drink it like potted coffee.
Spotted by the toffee in the torches
keeping caramel realized. I'm down
for an ending. I will be down
anyway. Who's the cause! That's
the pause. The moment prior
to the decision, when derision
feels trillionth. Sorted happiness.
Lexical orangutan, you were the picture
of everything we could have devoided.
We grailed, and then,
all that dust.
Roman Ryan 