My windblown mind is too afraid
for humility to settle where the branches
don't stand still against the blue.
I am awake in the literal sense,
still asleep in the metaphorical.
My parenthetical thoughts rule
my powerless open brackets
meaning my meaning is lost
in jumble rumbling traffic.
Gerunds avoid the present --
gifts are takings leaving chance
to the dicing --
fine tomatoes connect
acid life to the idea
the fruit is a red vegetable.
That dream language rises
once and again to repeat
the prepositional sentiment
in sentence.
In case of glass
break fire
and find yourself
orange and yellow and read
into the record
like a deposition
every cloud takes
before it's allowed to rain.
Roman Ryan 