I ironed my non-words
into paragraphs, importing
a hypocrisy into consistent
phrases. Talking and writing
are opposed to leaving language,
by the very act. A book won't
cure a reading addict, just as
another cup won't divest
the coffee wild. I don't
really want out, as much
as I do, from this perfect,
juicy cage. I squeeze the
thorns and the bars; I feel
the photosynthesis in my
lightly exposed veins. To
make another poem? To
slake my thirst with pure,
direct importation of the
whirls around? More questions
manufacture more answers,
and beget the super cycle
whose rolling strolls
cannot know how to stop.
Roman Ryan 