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Brian Builta

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By
Things No War Can Touch


I hear it badly,
birdsong tirritirriti,
a fickle machinery.

Someone pops a top
as the sun rises
glorious and indifferent.

Something round is afoot,
despite derring-do and what-not
it will arrive.

Amid cricket chatter
you and your corpuscles
blunder along.

Then there’s the sheer fluid beauty
after being stuck,
of having come through

yet again.


Brian Builta divides his time between a bedroom and a kitchen in Arlington, Texas. His poetry has been published most recently in yolk, Delta Poetry Review and Innisfree Poetry Journal. He is frequently overdramatic and is currently experiencing a dark night of the soul. He is the author of A Thursday in June and more of his poetry can be found at brianbuilta.com.
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