I am compelled by
Adam Phillips
on resistance.
Yes, resist.
Learn how to
desist. It's a mist
and you have to
breathe in the droplets
to become a couplet
between any concept
and its antonym.
Breathing into
the seething humid
speaks my hominid
fragmentation. The
embrace with arms so
wide that I cannot hide
any part of my middle
from the fiddling Roman burn
that my imperial side
inflames. Control:
my recurring steam
dream, a room in which
I am stitched into my
jackrabbit coat, a hopping
guilt, zippered shut with
the teeth that I broke
on the rocks that I
try to eat.
Roman Ryan 