Did you mistake the clouds
for the sky? I did. I saw red
on a blueless night and decided
that this was the end of the end
of the end of the space between
the land and the sun. Generally,
generalizations carry me along.
Abstractions are not distractions;
they are real, tangible actions,
spooky in their zero distance
from the center of the place
in me that could one day be
come calm. I of the storm,
I of the pupil, I of the tigerless
jungle. There is no danger here,
that's the danger of this place.
This faceless place, marked only
by numbers and a few vestigial
names. There are hearts here,
however. O hearts, you are more
than your ace. You are royalty,
peasantry, pleasantries. All the
things that beat inside of me,
inside of you, beating our insides
half to the next breath, these
berating things unseat us
from our comfortable
position and greet our
remaining days with
the smile of a sky
that will be here
well and well
after we are
not.
Roman Ryan 