The Richter Scale goes off the charts
when I set my cup down a little
too hard; juggling the sense of proportion
with the attentiveness apparently desired
some words will never be rhythmic.
The hair trigger of an assumption machine
sends me down a Rube Goldberg of paths
matching the miniscule to a forever of effects
enjoying every bite of the almost forbidden fruit
when strawberries are in season.
Language yields: warm coconut oil to a spoon
spreading and melting, unremovable from surfaces
as more words rise from the primordial snooze
sleeping at the beginning of time; this is
how we started talking about life.
Roman Ryan 