Heavy heaven, you've got your dialectical
diabolical and this double deterrent will
guide the faithful to become the wrathful.
Wanting is so like haunting as to demanding
two-letter verbs. The sidewalk's curbs are too
high here to roll off, so remain the concrete's cliff.
Suburban niceties, as sharp as newborn spruce
tips, paid in electronic concurrency, develop like
children, slowly, all at once, slowly.
Yes, hello to you too, neighbor. We must pause,
look into each other's eyes, not too closely, and
revel in the casual calm that this asphalt enabled.
Back and forth, walk walk walk walk. The bean
stalk chalked the sidewalk, between mailboxes,
as a message to the seekers: speak instead of find.
Art, then. As a chart without reason. As a cart
without wheels. As a part that can be played for
a reason that must be lost and found and lost.
Think those misery thoughts. Drive those faded
oughts. Stay between the lines until such times as
the spines of books background. Look for hooks.
Roman Ryan 