As you reveal, you decay,
anthropomorphistry crowds
out your object impermanence
boiling your blended other
into the bacterial remittances
send to the subject who turned
you from a particle to a wave
and that was when I wasn't looking
at the dotted mottled ministry
of live fruit cell no longer living
testing your green fade
against a decidedly not chartreuse
probability; can you hear the
scars on your upper side sing
the once yellow song of late brown,
undone by the other peel,
made to waxy touch and bitter smell
to last as long as the day is false,
made of edible starlight
in the prelude to a singing dusk
sought by attention and carried
to the same home
that would never have let you go.
Dry mouth and a soft go of the
gainsaid woolen firkin,
instrument of practice, which
type did you pick up when
the tiredness came over you,
of course you chose the journey
north, there was no other
route prescribed by the limited
pliability dumbsters who
owned and plowed and
unasked, made the world
ignorant of its former
favorite color.
Roman Ryan 