Montevideo,
you could have been home.
I don't value valor
or a boxer's winking busted eye.
So, no, chivalry is not a zombie
and neither is the figment imagined
succulent enough for a Casablancan market.
Waves don't travel,
they are like Emerson's self:
a shelf that won't move across
countries or waters or words.
Stable points make a cosine
curve and swerve and return
to that habitual centerline
the axis of why
to consider if Paris days
may have decided
overnight nights.
Airplane season is short,
the land can't support
another Singapore's fray;
the noodles though...
I am a food machine
a bad analogy
for a computer's electric meal.
Transistor Boston,
you gave me nothing that
I could not get in York;
all novelty aside,
islands have made a false peace
with Ares' dogs,
these thirsty canid moralizers;
togetherness is their pack,
a cigarette history steeped in
oil money and bloodsport,
as nothing brings mortal coils tighter
than a profitable day at work.
Roman Ryan 