Nary narratively null
stories eat the ones they mull
Process cannot see itself
destiny is not a shelf
simply verbal rolling storms
fire folders without norms
Exist exist while meaning melts
existentialism welts
cannot hurt the poet's hand
if going on's the only plan
Matters not the dear old reader
long as birds may land the feeder
give the yard its glancing due
gardening with eyes and blue
Gather words like wood and fire
burning smokeless nothing dire
supercilious machines
overflowed by process sheen
Another arc that tangent wrought
not for books or fodder thought
all's a spritz of accident
failure mode too confident
Roman Ryan 