Ryan Bis

Deep Space

the comfort of clothes
and starts fluttering above the sky
express why we,
sons and daughters,
wave our watchless arms.
candles enlighten faces
yet bodies remain in shadow,
deep in space
outside, God's drunk eyes
admire the ritual sunset from town hall
while inside the candlelight endures
and when we burn out
we put on our watches,
exit to the sunset

Tripping

a mother settles on her porch,
unattended,
isolated on a summer day.
she watches her children scramble for a loose ball
"If only I could do that.
Things would be simpler."
she dreams of dropping--
hastened
by an accelerated rhythm--
but drugs
would change little,
she still fears
the seven-legged spider
lingering on her leg,
delaying aggression
inciting anticipation,
anxious sweat.
as the children
scamper home
they never think
to check mom's pulse.

Living Through Chemistry

percussion sets the rhythm,
hi-hats motivate hips
like acceptance kindling elation and communication.
                      Never got this at home.
cheers and whistles
congratulate the phased kick drums
cancelling each other out
                      Something I can appreciate.
to celebrate,
some raise their pipes
which emit the smoke
floating around the young girl's crimson hair
and her ashen roots
                      It's pollution, but it's friendly.
so she mimics them
holding the pipe to her pristine face,
and then sliding it between her provocative lips;
                      I want someone else to feel this good

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