Ryan Brodesser Poems

There is a problem, I face,

One that I cannot erase.
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`It started in Texas, on a sunny day

Down the road, a mile from the route
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I am the growling washing machine

the whirling fan
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The beast has been cornered and hurt

The beast has been stabbed and is matted with blood, mud and dirt
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You came and took me out of the dance

I followed, fool that I still am
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Welcome souls to the life that you now tread

A life after life here in the land of the dead
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Will it come? Will he ever stand?
on the day, the time to release his hand
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Long She sailed through the open waves and sea

Long she sailed, in her lord's service in golden silken shrouds.
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The door said solitary confinement

As they pushed me through
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The rising moon means many things, as it floats above the sky
And references many themes
A time when dreams flitter as they fly
Onward to their sleeping hosts on feathered wings with silvery seams
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