It's cold, the cultural coffee cup;
it sees sitcom departures in permanent terms
unbeckoned alliterations as contradictory churns
and we rely on the acidity under the belly's button
to allow the fastest forward tractable bacteria
a way out in case of broken ass.
That's how it feels on a mirthless morning:
the elbow of the body, shattered, by its refusal
to accept a seat. Even the shed is frowning as
freezing sauntered onto the last green leaf
to knock the sense out of the air.
Weakness takes the legs off of hope
with an extra word to indicate a refusal
to cope with yellowed hazards, over
grown to construct the sense that
completion is actually the goal.
Roman Ryan 