Brains in a Bottle

by Ryan Nardi

Help me cope; it gets cold in the sun.
The land below isn't the land underneath.
Freddy said get drunk and try to understand one.
Know you death keeps your breath on a short leash.

Are we hustling nowhere?
What are we? Not honest, not poems, not art.
Hardly open to openness' charm.
Look at me, help me to know your heart.

Stop spinning your wheels in a crossroads.
Don't bury it, burn your money.
It's not sin if it feels like gusto.
And I'll eat piecemeal if I'm hungry.


Posted on 05/14/2009
Copyright © 2023 Ryan Nardi

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Samiah Haque on 05/15/09 at 05:56 AM

brilliant, brilliant write.

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