By Ryan Bry
A rainbow rose petal /
couldn’t be more delicate //
her breath is colored by butterflies /
her eyeshadow is made of algae /
when I near her presence for a moment /
her heart spins like a carousel //
and it has nothing to do with /
the weather writing novels /
over nature / or the hands
reaching up from the sea //
our speaking movements
become enough love /
to fill all these things
with her pencil-fine trace
and my poison cure stagger..
Ryan Bry was born in the same way a savage time burst is. He collides with the universe like a being of the stars. You can find him in the rapt ecstasy of a holy fool at the right Vietnamese restaurant, or you can listen to him play guitar in various psychosis wards. He has one published book, Information Blossoms: sold out from Expat Press.
Hot Pot Magazine 