Some such things cannot be described
in poetry or prose. Such things are
bound to reprise, in robin's egg
rose. Colorful horses bound prance
daylight, and how could such forces
words cast in light; vicarious feeling
undone by transmission, so direct
is the reeling, my brain is begun.
Starting tomorrow, I'll be here today,
yet I can't sorry, this unwritten play.
Tragedy sunlight: a dusk censored
sweet, casually moonlit, a brusque
shock of wheat. I sip at the moment,
a gargantuan flush, inside the Roman
senator's mush. Coliseum gelato, dairy-
free cows, rushing Furtado, a bird in the
brush. Ask what it was like, and I'll give you
a picture, but pay for the video, and you'll
lose all the stricture. Gather instead, from
your eyes afield, breathe in the smells,
water smiles unsealed.
Roman Ryan 