Peel't orange spells geometries inside geometries,
angling for as many explosions are there are
effervescent polyps. Ice slipped into the conversation
when the chains came off, interdicting the rhythm
of a moribund monitor lizard. Musicals and martins.
Frazzled Spartans. Untrue faces. Inauthentic realities.
May the composites attract, like steel and its inputs
to the things that could have once been also magnets,
generating gravity with a little extra spice and a little
too little salt. That's how flavor becomes underexpressed,
a non-becoming that does not deserve the syllables.
Words are a worth that entitles the eponymous
to a sentence and a standard and a narrator with a depth of
voice so serious that it can only taste like irony blood.
Roman Ryan 