Proust was loosed upon my mind
a janitor, the mopping kind
binding cobwebs to my soul
and rigging meaning from my mold
Being, time, and memory
gather pathless coterie
to walk in thought and wavering
calling oughts and favoring
Value kneels in front of youth
when all my goodness was uncouth
blathering at audiences
stammering my confidences
Nervous future looks its past
in the forehead, super fast
it's a tick, a stick, a wick
ashen, fallow, often sick
Would that swans might find their way
as I dither, wither, fray
yet the record stands up straight
bending not to further fate
Roman Ryan 