A scorch across rows of vines: irrigated must,
nodules, hairs, sensation crust, not yet burned,
images of: holding a glass, reddish silence
prepares a mind to hold on to the moment,
to the minutest sketch: impressions won't
translate, as verses are not a picture;
In point of didactic: guess and check makes auto,
that which seemed to be stuck in the physical
statement: thou shalt not improve that which
you have been gifted; Nay! Such a one is the
mouth-nose taste of gaseous glories, narrators
cannot tell you about said glories, for the touch
of buds upon the air will melt you suds into all care;
Run on, sent from the hive, to seek pollen, to predict
that days when going outside is inadvisable, thank you
factory-mobile-factures, your service is noted in
convenience while that which one swims standing up
becomes nox for us; undertones, flowers in the house,
condition the air and poke at the piano, albeit quite
beautifully, don't forget and smells won't let you.
Roman Ryan 