Three Poems by Bryan Myers

THE BAD GIRLS I FIND HERE

There are many

and they come out of the sea to eat my innards

I wish Sylvia Plath would appear

like a duck

with two eyes looking at her

own nose, maybe as a joke

or just a sorta confusion—her natural state

and with the stars twinkling in their forebodings

of the nighttime, the eternal skyward heavens

nothing is as peaceful as the moon

but when I look back to the sand

she's whining about life

and I am doing my best to listen to her

but there's just no attraction

and she is getting drunk, two or three beers

which is like breakfast

for me

and I am thinking about holding her

and that seems like a bad idea

there's nothing to the future

with a woman

who still acts like

a girl

and I don't want to be

her man, I just want to get back to my apartment

dim the lights

and drink the rest of these fifteen beers

she left for

me

which you've got to admit

makes you laugh

as you realize

you will

never

see

her

again.

THE LIGHTS ON THE CEILING

I have stared at you long enough to know

that when I finally give up

there will be no more treasure

in the lights of your eyes

where the Universe

exists

freely

openly

and

without

judgment

you and I will find a soft plateau

staring out at the horizon

roots

under our feet that have been dried out

for centuries

no more Native tribes, just the afterbirth

of a miscarriage, my god—what am I saying?

this is just my mind

my intoxicated mind

why have I been so focused on all the wrong things?

what is this black hole I have found

in the heart

of

Vietnam?

is it in me? or have I stumbled

upon

the chaos

of the spheres

encircling

Mars

and Venus

and my beerbottle

I have to get up sometimes

and walk the demons out

of me, or at least

smoke a cigarette

out on the

balcony

to see

the hot, hot

sunshine

and the place

where I've been living

now.

WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

listening to a podcast, TV in the background playing nothing but noise

cars and buses and motorbikes going by outside the window

down

below

the water along the white sand is glistening

and I'm a little gloomy inside because of drinking too much

and my birthday is over, so it's back to work

doing what?

I get tired

and want to lie immobile

on some bed

where is my woman?

I miss her: thinking

about that

while

standing on the 25th floor

looking

everywhere

the sunlight is strong

and my bones and teeth feel weakened

perhaps I need some more coconut water

or some more time to rest and relax

as the rest of the world is burning, burning

I could do anything I wanted to

taking time off from work

when most people don't have

any

the rest of the world is yelling

and I am calm, yelling inside—maybe

not dying alone, just living

without

anybody else, so

what happens

next?

I couldn't tell you

but maybe another poem, sometime tomorrow

or maybe even later

tonight?

I had these romantic ideals

about staying in a hotel for two nights

and I slept, slept—took hot baths

drank beers, lots of them

and I didn't do much of any writing

but maybe I will

soon

yeah,

maybe

something big is coming

I just don't know what

it is

yet

***

_________

Bryan William Myers has been traveling around the world since October 2018. He visited 12 countries last year. His work has appeared in various literary magazines such as Red Fez, Whirlwind Magazine, Entropy, Nightingale & Sparrow, Beatdom, Poetry Pea, and the Daily Drunk. He's self-published 14 books. His website is bryanwilliammyers.com. He can be found on Twitter: @bryanwillmyers // IG: @bryanwilliammyers