Excerpt from the Anonymous Angel and Poems to Pierce Reality – Ryan Bry



It was a long time ago. In a travesty far far away.
What are you full of today, ANONYMOUS ANGEL? asked McClure with a soul not knowing or not.
I’m full of the swim, I said, swimming as the chin on the baby under barber lamp grins.
And I said, As you went stomping through the ice cold Christmas of a reel, dead lice jumped from beneath and you held to let go what you bequeath. Song angels cry, war angels heal. (Video angels make me dry). Everything comes together when you kneel.
OH, how have you have chosen me, chose me to trawl a flickering maze, McClure said, Campbell: bettered me into a beamless mode working my eyes up to motion of the feathers in the fetters of war. Disappearing into the night of fire I walked upon a bullet that screamed to my brother. Out came the shout with its stillwater bladder. In a compass of repetition I fire forward comparing strikes in the dirt. Evensong hit the radio with a blast of proud happiness and the ANGEL darted every damn which way.

I was the only ghost
in your window
didn’t you ever know
I’d go

I was the picture
in your frame
didn’t think or know
you’d go feeling so slow

To a lightly burned bulb that lumines upon the tabledrape.
He spoke into a burst of his: I killed my brother years ago and I felt myself through Cara Clarissa’s curtain dress and guess which one of these ones I feel bad about? You know, I know I hadn’t meant to kill my brother my whole life until he just about scrounged in my civil soda but I meant to send you dead because every time my grenade goes off you somehow want to be in the friendly fire, and by the words I have earned from the magical learn I send you burned and into the urn of no return, away from-
DID YOU FORGET WHERE YOU ARE? THERE’S THE PORTAL ON THE DOOR AND YOU’RE SQUATTED TO THE FLOOR, telling apologies to an angel with no cure. Said nobody to nowhere. THE ANONYMOUS ANGEL laughed. The angel of candy despise, the angel of golden precise eyes, angel moving like the mother of whispered distress, angel of all weather at once; the angel grabbed his cloak and headed west for the coast, to coast. MCCLURE HAS BREACHED VIOLATION SURE AS WE CAN MAKE IT SURE. We step back and engage the radio phase on the page. Under sweat of constitution we confess to announce the penal code of angelic human relation in the speech of his priest what power Lord granted, killing by tongue? I told him more things are done on the gun than wings are spun. Every night I prayed blankly with tears for the rapture of your soul to take away the pain and mine has gone darkdim and dead all because you confessed the rhyme as a child to deathen me, I’m done. The priest had this lament as he saw the fired-ball eyes of Yahshuah Messiah look to the soul above and inside . . drifted widespread life upon the parapet of noiseless understanding and sly joy of Shamayim’s play.


Last night I dreamt that I punched through a coffin in an airport bookstore


And I woke up thinking: 
“so this must be Ryan, actualized,”
who lives everyday like it’s the day after his last
wondering through some restaurant soundtrack
as culminations point to each other in faces
and what is happening inside the plant
that curls a silent vaudeville oh,
will I always be too young to know!
and trampling on the music of seashells
is his dream of choice as his eyes float above
the lamplight with its greenish gift
connecting through to the leaves of a page
scrawling through memory itself with pastel fervor
as trees across the world bow to welcome us
on some day that is born again in precipice


Eye light 28


A spit of light
dazzled the bored window
and I peered serene as my vision:
into the tub of reflection
where my publisher swallowed
seven angels brandishing a song
in a bar without a reputation
as the opera sky turns pinker than a field
and the ghost grass floats into our speaking …
I did my time like
I did my time like
the rest would speak for itself
as metal enlivens against drinking glass
and the sun feels its own warmth
for a second or two


Eye light 5


Harmonia means to build
a church out of your heart
where you hide the soul
—of your presence—
from daggered eyes
and too quickly wet tongues
build a church out of your
—heart—where you extend
the wings of the roof
              to ark the worthy
because you are in it—
O joy compounding,
like water running
      and crushing
              upon the surface—
how will I hold you:
when you are flying above
      little falcon,
breasted with powerful cries


the descent


The structures are in places
where disintegration hovers from the ground;
and a grungey throat tells of double growth
from the viney morass that remembers
your body sinking deep
and recovering in waves emanating
as you touch quiet the foliage
and eternal breath of true serum
warmcool water treating the soul
as epidermis flickers story