Whether we see the same thing or hear the sound at the same moment
Interdisciplinary feelings sometimes conjoin at the very monument
To the very word: it's extended by the superfluous words, the
The super fluid flows south from the lake into the drinking glass.
It is a civilized thing, an agreement to go by the middle way
I signed in my blood, but only because my pen was out of ink
And I am of the type to spill into a fountain; this tree-lined
Dirt road holds the remains of contracts reduced in size
Held together by the dust and the snow, melted on cloudy days.
Scarcity breeds contentment, the eagles used to say; they do not
Talk in such a way any longer: memory is shorter than the wind.
Concisely, I overgo the limits of the patient imagination, to the profligate
Reality, spilling extra notions into a rocky stream full of adjectives
And devoid of a bottom. File past, mushrooms and weeds, while
The birds remind me that I am outside, nowhere to be lost.
Roman Ryan 