Personal disbursements invade the interpersonal.
And syllables ruin quiet foments.
Bridges to undoing are fireballs
rolling down wooden planks.
Light and its opposite: murk.
Sparrows talk hawks and
which chases which?
Candles indite their makers;
whose spark is the progenitor's mark?
Pay and its ilk make the metaphors
that live by our sides
and fight our splits
to open us beyond our capacities.
It's a cure thing: make dis-ease
out of better
and you have hypocrisy
brewing and aging
in a metal barrel
waiting to bear our
to where we do not speak.
Roman Ryan 