Chatter is like a little bird looking in every direction
hopping rather than flying, hoping for crumbs
eavesdropping for a meal and leaving when it's
too obvious that you're being watched, and my eyes
want to be just the same, with the same out on wings
offered to the wind for a picking up, improper gerunds
leading to the disappearance of everyone I knew,
as I go where I haven't been, to be seen and not seen
an anachronism talking about technology and wondering
about the idiomatic life we made out of words and the
metaphors about meaning and certainty and complaining
in the middle of the week, there was another cliché
sprayed out audibly as the life of each mind comes out of
the sun and into the shade and starts a fire to keep warm
on one of the hottest days of the year.
Roman Ryan 