Five Poems
Ryan Downey


We got too political on the spiral slide. Fell out top-side. Sign the suburban lawns. Let them read: Bear-rides: dollars. Blood on the grass, let them read. A bear, human-faced read in England: the licks we lost on the carousel, the jingles we abstained. From here on out we grocery-list our desires. I passion-fruit you, my cavities on display, we under-whelm the forest that fails us.


A radiant smile. A beaming. We are cell morphing, splitting, and swerving. How much you ask. We rupture the bank. West-style and spilling. Over our daily limits. Can we meat our minimum payment? A bear, gymnastical, circus-style and violining. A momentary diversion, deafening. Hold that phone, cellular! Again, Bush-style, right-side we must protect this house. Wear! The bear gesturing. We break the bank. Down.


If it is a question of sleeping, we do. We complex the complex with shy effects. Skin-shades drawn taut over grandiloquence. Phrasal constructions. That we fell out of and into. That which we fell out. Bear says to bear the topsy turviness of Šisms. We read into the dream-states. We inter them. We rupture the rapture, plastic-harmonica-soliloquy-style. Of all the days to interrupt this was the.


The tipsy turbines of republicanism. We chartered a biplane. Ratcheted up the altitude. It is a question of melting. We deem this animal kingdom fit. We dean the halls of academia. For you love, we scrap all the metals. The statue coppers (statute permitting) especially. What we wouldn't give (a hand, a break, a flying fuck) to make this. Hole again, and falling. Flat-footing and edging we surface tension the plate. The heat we are devout to mete.


He topes the scotch with tardiness and shambles. Gives lectures to a bear. Says: we will remember to manifest ourselves, we will clean our teeth with our teeth. Bear says to bear we must protect this house from manifesto selves. A solemn chain gang, a licorice snap. President Dean on the prowl and we must keep a low profile. A note: rally for something and two honey pots in the amphitheater. I haven't been lately, myself. You bear-smile, rows upon rows. Teeth-style. There is nothing left to growl at, a bear, apoplectic, growls. We are roughly transliterating this narrative. Barely.