Fall in love, to stumble down
A staircase is to miss the corners
Curves on the light
And plod head over feels
Or the beautiful reverse
Either way's a bruise reconnaissance
Renaissancing with middle age
Zero to a hundred
Since tick marks show
How to say old
In any language
Dyed hard, hairless trees,
It's falling down around you
The winter, coming near,
Metaphonic birdsong
Dealt a bad hand
By a crooked dealer
Assumed deadly
So unquestioned
While the temptation to
Devour everything in the
Cupboard is a baseboard
Heating up a room
Without a sense of temperature
Roman Ryan 