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Christopher Scott Bryant

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Whitby, ON, CA

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Welcoming sleep

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

Weary is my mind,
my body weary too.
In a peopled house
I find myself alone.

The night is hours come,
the day past over long.
I am ready now
to sleep the sleep of stones.


Untitled

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

Though hope lie in the deepest pit,
with cruelty overgrown,
though spurned a thousand times before,
once more there I go.


Another Thought

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

O how I hate the rhyming pair
A harsher sound could not course the air.

If I write a rhyming pair again then
kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me.


The Mirror

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

Such skillful hands
so ill an art
I'm not surprised
you've taken part
in the crafting
of this backward thing
each polished stroke
each hammer's ring
slowly helped you
realize
this mask you hold
before your eyes
every time
you need to see
this twisted
and imagined me.
But it will not let you
see your error:
It is no mask,
it is a mirror.


TSD

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

He takes another nail
drives it in
to this languorous, menacing construction.

How long after death
does the blood stay warm
he wonders, though he feels nothing.

A candle melts
yet while it burns
we wait for its cessation.

Without the flame
it's frozen still
in total sensory deprivation.


The Courtship

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

I took you to see a sunset
I told you when the moon was full
I showed you the only thing in town.

We have talked for hours
of almost nothing
come be with me forever or just now.


The Antichristening

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

The pain was great and it was real.
As you tore yourself away
from that which clung to you
like a hungry leech
seeking to latch itself to your breast,
to drink most deeply.

Unknown for so long was
how you wished desperately
for some other unlucky host
to which the wart would adhere mercilessly
for some gentle, unprovoked wind
to lift up the clinging beast
and deposit it some place you cannot name.

But your disease has its own wisdom grown
and, privy to you desires,
seeks to expel itself
to set at its own throat and
draw itself away
in a mad sputtering of angry, shamed, and bloody expectorate.

there must be a ritual to
commemorate the complete
abandonment of a quest;
a cornerstone to mark the
admission of failure


Untitled

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

Give me a hug before you see me cry
I found the words to tell you why
I'm so dark and harmful sometimes
and you didn't laugh, you didn't mind.

the oaths of friendship are seldom spoken


You Better Christ

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

Be a friend
aim the pointed finger
pull away but linger, linger
be brash
be untruthful
make me old, stay forever youthful
kick when I'm low
hide when I'm high
walk all around me but not by my side.

Congeal into a babbling horde
all the better to rip at my gourd.
Then
raise your voices in a song of hate;
there's strength in me yet,
its not too late.

Befriend the devil,
be a friend to him, too.
My friends, you'll do
what even Christ couldn't do.


Kid Brother

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

I am no one's kid brother
to sit down on the sidewalk
with a set of tiddily winks while
the big kids
throw rocks through old factory
windows.


Happen upon a Snake

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

On Monday
my arm served as a salt lick
for a snake.
I had anticipated an ant;
over the hour that had not been
unusual
but
when I turned my head
I saw the head
of a snake
and little else protruding
from the long grass.
It was so close
as it boldly, innocently licked
the salt from my arm
the tongue shooting forward
rapidly and accurately.
How could I, in my relative bulk,
be anything but menacing
to something so small?
When to the denizens of nature
ever approach its arrogant oppressors
and take something not given?
I jumped a foot in the air
It stole into the grass
my nervous system had compelled me
before my advanced brain
could inform me
"It's just a snake. You like snakes."
I searched vainly as
it had retreated
quickly and professionally
into the overgrown grass:
the cliché springing to life.
Dear Friend,
I hope that I did not disturb You
You did not disturb me
should You crave
the bitter taste of a human again
then I shall offer my arm
and imagine that
with that gesture
the millennia of abuse are lessened
the wrongs of the God-fearing
are undone
and that there is peace with
those who do not have gods
but are gods.


Why I have not

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

They say that you cannot observe
something without altering it,
which is why I haven't told you
how much I enjoy the whimsical
smile that sometimes touches your
face.


Now gone

by

Christopher Scott Bryant

How the gap is so much easier to fill,
now that there is a gap.
The gap is there because you are recently gone.
How I wish that I would not blame you
for your prior occupation.