Transitional songs ride the shave from country to
folk. Folks, what are we doing here? If a person can
ask that, they will at least be mayor. If a portrayer
can tell people what they are doing here, this is
an artist. Vague terms must be colored in by the
hearer. Really, reader, you are writing this poem
using your mind. I find that the mind is not a
place. The mind is you. Feelings are you. I am
you. Our solid state cosmos does not recognize
space or time. Identity is a heuristic with a less
than pluralistic view about distance. Rent the
free minutes, they are available. These sixty
second increments will take your money any
way. Do not think too hard about the spaces
or the returns. How many returns? Some say
eternal; that is not a number. Counting fails the
mounting test. Numbers cannot be screwed onto
anything, they are already tractored to groups intractably.
There are many parallel lines. Each eye ingests some of them.
The left eye is concurrent with the light. The right eye is con
current with the light. Continuity's superfluity has fun with
itself. The useless represent the only valuable things. All elements
are elemental to all others. Vital. Critical. Crucial. Do you get it?
Importance is in the lies of the potholder. Heat dissipates and
it also does not. All dissipation is participation. Simple verbal toys.
Roman Ryan 