It turns out
I never steer
into my fear.
I used to take
cold showers
and ice down
my aversions.
Now I build
my edifices
to protect my mind
from anything that
could find
me.
Now I see
that I am stuck outside
anyway. I am in the rain,
in the pain, in the
plain old yellow grain,
as glutenous as a fruitless
projectile. My powderless bullet
has become a mere casing,
matching my preference
for nonviolent
evasion.
Call it avoidance,
you.
I can be harsher
with my
self when I
place me
in second
person.
I reckon
you could understand
and then command
some small harmy
(a harmonious army,
harmful)
if you might take might
at its face's value
broken jaw
and awe
and all.
Roman Ryan 