Covering Ryan Rader
& Layne Ransom
Self-Portrait of Ryan Rader at 25
Good day. Too fucking old, or 25. People ask me, “Ryan, why
are you so pro-gay rights?” People ask me, “Ryan, when
did you find the secret tape?” Don’t tell Shaun Gannon
but I think I’m growing up. For my birthday, I bought three pairs
of socks for three bucks—that’s fifty cents per sock + the priceless
feeling of a warm middle toe, for those of you playing
at home. I am playing drums. I am getting my dad
an awkward eight-minute phone call for Father’s Day.
The other day I was at the park and I lined up five picnic tables
for no reason, except order. Those guys at the X Games are pretty
much better skateboarders and BMX tricksters than me.
I can finally admit this. I can finally admit I hate the weather.
Today I am cleaning up the living room to impress Nappy Roots.
When I say I can’t wait for Muncie, I mean I can’t wait
to see my Muncie pals. To feel not so fucking old.
To, for a night, relive the days of taking dick pics
to teach the government a lesson. To drink a two-dollar pint
of Two-Hearted and talk about girls too loudly. If you try
to high-five me tonight I’m gonna miss. If you’re ever in Chicago
my house is a short train ride away from everywhere I imagine.
Layne Ransom Poem
This poem should be called Abstraction
and then a meteor would come down and tear
everything into little pieces of paper. Another abstract
written on each one—faith, recovery, perseverance,
the human heart. All of this takes place in A City.
Where my mother’s conception of my soul rides
a cruiser bike the wrong way on a packed road.
Where in the windows people watch flicks
starring a Patrick I’d rather not discuss in fear
of weeping. Also, there are comedies with white guys
with white hair. TVs laugh and never say God Bless You.
Goats in Tyler’s parents’ field headbutt each other daily
and no one asks them to be more considerate of feelings.
Inside my mouth is an egg not yet broken, an abstract
sarcophagus of emotion, not yet hatched into a living thing
with an esophagus. You will one day be born
amidst the rainbows with a loud mouth on the concrete.
I was once waiting for Jesus to come back, but now
I’m just waiting for hands to finish this puzzle.
Tyler Gobble is a multi-hat wearer for Magic Helicopter Press and the host of the Everything Is Bigger reading series in Austin, TX. He has two chapbooks appearing this spring–Other People’s Poems (Radioactive Moat) andCollected Feelings [with Layne Ransom] (Forklift INK)–and his first full length will drop from Coconut Books this fall. More at tylergobble.com.