Green Briar
Everything can be an ax
when the view
below
swallows
everything in shades of green—
anything is slow-growing
when the wind
pushes
back into your nose.
Take care to see it through.
Dependency comes to those
who refuse to climb.
Herding Spring
Shepherding the horses of spring
Insipid whip of yellow,
Rather fine. The line of
Afterimage cuts the air
Into odourless banks. Flat
Water stares at the scene.
A sterile line is drawn
taut as the horizon.
Sharp as affliction.
A low spinescence follows the crack into summer.
The horse’s hollow eyes
blind with starlight.
Pagoda Dogwood
What cavern is this
that throws my shadow
westward? Crowds
of red punducles eat
what sanity is left.
Blood is heavy.
Shadows line the floors
There are fissures in the sinew,
shallow but precise.
Well drained, residing
rain cannot reach you here.
The crook of elbow—
split by sunlight—
can hold just as much time
as summer.
The whiteness will be your own.
The sunrise is terminal.
Cornelian Cherry
Lustrous bright green, not
so marked by youth
but by effort. Early spring
comes fast. Carves canyons
of your eyes. Sockets stained
with shadows. Your
Stratified muscles ache with
Descent. On the borders of
Breath, a plethora of
Lateral umbels.
They stand ready.
Conscription cries red-green tears.
They do not come for us all.
But the margins shrink
To match the moderate length
Of life.
C.W. Bryan is a student at Georgia
State University. He lives in Atlanta, GA where he writes poetry, nonfiction
and short fiction. He is currently writing his weekly series, Poetry is
Plagiarism, with Sam Kilkenny at poetryispretentious.com.
His debut chapbook Celine was published with Bottlecap Press in 2023.
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