IÕm not the brightest bulb in the box either,
but your arms are like ambulances flashing
warning with sirens.
So loud and calming,
Using your branded words as band-aids,
man-made clichˇs to coax my restraints,
and a sweet, sweet chokehold of my breath
with the death of yours.
And your death is delightful,
diligent and contagious,
contained within a blissful,
Covering and pulling below
like an undercurrent
beneath a sly surface.
Asphyxiating to sleep,
I weaken, and try to wake
asking sudden questions about the time,
knowing that your face is cold and fake
and so, so embedded in mine.
And you burn bright oblivion, baby, burn bright oblivion.
Life enjoys throwing a surprise at me, catching me off guard.
I turn right on reds with a glove to catch the sky smiling,
changing faces for different seasons.
Never backing down,
reasoning that defeat is depleting.
I stepped in a puddle of paradise today.
The frowns and sad skies removed their disguises
to show freedom in a mirrorÕs reflection.
The green explodes out of gray light, brightening
as the night draws in steady hands.
Small corners expand inside the mind
to free the spirits encaged by pride.
I cherish the sound of wind through the trees
and imagine what the negative looks like.
Black and white never suited me,
too tight in the waist and made my indiscretions
visible for split seconds of half-ingested moments.
I wonder why the sound of night is dark
when it brightens more than my mind hinting
in sacred spaces of time.
Yesterday the ground broke from beneath my feet
and a canyon stretched out before me,
as vast as the sky.
I grabbed my magic carpet and flew over
to the other side.
© Casey Ryle
Bio: Casey has studied poetry at St. Mary's College of CA as well as Sacramento City College and has been writing for several years.