When the fellow traveled
to dream's waters
the land seemed like
it never existed;
spores make snores
from never shores
and rhyme makes time
without that sense feast;
expect less when you're
on the road
it's a beat
he only walked once;
come now,
it's a fraught moment,
dwell on the signature line,
this letter is what's left of the spine;
book jackets weather
as leather trolls for feathers
and meaning is a spill
deeply under the frills;
banter with spring
little hummers
it's time to chirp
while the communists burp.
Roman Ryan 