Ryan Cooper

Ryan Cooper is 26 and lives in Portland, Oregon.  His mother, Kay, passed away in 1997 , during his freshman
year and he began writing as a way of working through the crisis.

Corn Silk


I'll be there in a minute five
black lights screaming through an open window in Old Town
Noise complaints don't stop us
Looking down and shouting at innocence lost on the fire escape

Like lambs led to the slaughter
these pink clouds can't hide satellites
by dawn encroaching on our path
through all of our fatal lives

Witching hours pass by unnoticed
Measured only by the turns of the glass in my hand
and the attempts I make to fill it
Can you see the dust settling?
Keeping time, in wait of the next storm
and that fateful night you'll knock on my door

I wish you were so daring
To trespass on my sky with the cool leaves of your nature
and the sobering undertones you've brought to my life
Pushing through fields of corn silk with the power of a hawk
Round yellow eyes searching the surface of each stone
for the one with your name engraved
Lest I forget the middle initial

The speckled wingspan of brown paint
like a woman's hair blurs the lines of love
and one night grips my heart with cords of leather
threatening to prey on the memories of yesterday
But I can never forget

And I pray never will you;
my skin beneath your nails
your breath on my neck
our cheeks flushed and warm
Eyes devouring each other
Looking for the right time to come