Mr. Williams,
I'm looking through a green glass bottle.
The bottle is not broken
and there is a centimeter
of liquid in the bottom.
I see the plums in your stomach
when I look through the liquid.
The beer smells
like the beginning of time.
My fear sends me
to the deepest abstractions
so that I may avoid
the thing that brought me
to the edge of these HVAC systems
between two hospital buildings.
The whir stirs me back
to the concrete place
where I teeter.
Goodbye, my love.
Burnt toast
so many days later
will bring us back
together.
Roman Ryan 