Let me tell you,
the world is this way and
this is what you should do.
When I say it in a poem,
its irony bends under slight
scrutiny, its steel melts
when glazed words play
donut on the sprinkles.
When I am struck by
the urge to paragraph
and thus do so
it carries my free weight
a hundred and sixty some
pounded sandbags
in front of a flood
that a mountain wouldn't stanch.
Here, between you and I,
when we are poet and poetry-
affected (if I may be so
affected), conversation strikes
cold yellow matches
out above the plate
covered in candles and axes
and we grind the dim plight
that reasons with wispy diction.
Roman Ryan 