Country Music
an online journal of poetry
Home Issue 8 Contents Author Bios Archives Manifesto Submit

Ryan Bender-Murphy


Two emails
are bursting from their caves.
Two emails:
one with the spine of a razor—MINE;
and one with the spit of a miracle—YOURS.
My email’s shin guards
are soaked; your email’s helmet
and mouth piece are chewed;
my email is trying to kiss your email,
hoping for grass stains.
My email is a stingray
chasing the vanishing climates
that surround your email. My email
is dizzy; it is letting loose
images of glue sticks
into the wilderness, into the wild hides
that hide behind your email.
Spinning through
fabrics of antlers, galloping past networks
of sledgehammers, both emails know
how to connect and roll, like a giant snowball,
all over our faces.
They are naked
without erasers.
They were once
the clovers beneath our feet,
once ancient planets of volcanoes.
Standing at separate balconies,
you and I wait. The emails are drifting
through the dreams
of a limousine
and being slowly eaten
by fried chicken.