Jason Ryberg

November

Though not the first or 
last in the order of the 
circular march of 

the musical chairs
of the months, through the slowly 
whirling carousel 

of the seasons, still,
November just may be the 
oldest of them all, 

with the most dense and
complicated lineage, 
the most pure but most

misinterpreted 
of motivations and the 
deepest, most valid

reasons to drink too 
much whiskey and sing the blues
late into the night.

Help Us Help You

A wish that grew from 
egg to tadpole to bird to 
the story behind 

the bigger story 
with the opposable thumbs
and opposing truths, 

and all the lights on 
in its caves like a hive where 
even your phone or 

a very old map
won’t help you locate a clue 
or footnote, even, 

concerning what you
may have done or not done to 
help us help you to

decipher the dreams 
that you say -quote- “you barely 
remember dreaming.”

Jason Ryberg is the author of fifteen books of poetry, six screenplays, a few short stories, a box full of folders, notebooks and scraps of paper that could one day be (loosely) construed as a novel, and, a couple of angry letters to various magazine and newspaper editors. He is currently an artist-in-residence at both The Prospero Institute of Disquieted P/o/e/t/i/c/s and the Osage Arts Community, and is an editor and designer at Spartan Books. His latest collection of poems is The Great American Pyramid Scheme (co-authored with W.E. Leathem, Tim Tarkelly and Mack Thorn, OAC Books, 2022). He lives part-time in Kansas City, MO with a rooster named Little Red and a billygoat named Giuseppe and part-time somewhere in the Ozarks, near the Gasconade River, where there are also many strange and wonderful woodland critters. 

Flights, Issue Six, September 2022