For the Soviets, you watched Lenin watch you pee.
Bowie stares me down in coffee's light.
Picture windows: seeing you while you see through.
The writer, the poet, wants conjurings to echo
from one mind to the rest
along the rest's history.
See me, they say, watch me unfold this sheet of paper
and spread implications
across politics, materials, reality.
Narcissus looked through the lake and saw
someone beyond the bottom
joined him.
Flags, mags, tags, and bags spread rags
mimicking, mnemonically,
across the civil virus.
Call it non-living
and you'll have to clarify
your definition of life.
Roman Ryan 