When hot, the iron strikes a shirt
with itself after a few seconds.
Sweet impression, you're a shadow
whose imprint will be worn
as a tattoo to every trim.
Seek meaning and then look
upon these sickly creations
and consider that matter
is a form of god
that no soul could eat for lunch.
Cyclical distance outpaces cynicism
[so far]
as random walks
turn a runner
into the strolling street.
Sugar glum?
Truck up,
your candy was bartered
to a pin factory foreman
in exchange for an ounce
of ironic detachment.
Roman Ryan 