—Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Lake Eliot, Ontario, Canada
—Anonymous Photos
INTERVIEW WITH A VAMPIRE
She wanted to watch Interview with the Vampire
because it was her fortieth birthday
and she didn’t want to get old.
And I watched it with her,
running my fingers through her hair
as she lay in my lap.
Even though
I thought the whole thing
was stupid
and that the little girl
who couldn’t die
seemed
to be the only other one
who knew it.
HERMIT CRAB
it is light
and then it is not
the window holds the sun for a time
then loses it
like the errant throw
of a baseball
dirty wet drippings
from the eavestrough
collecting in muddy
piles
murder crouched over coy ponds
studying the movement
with a fluffy crazed
annihilation
claws balling out the melons
of wasted blood-shot
eyes
spooning in dark bedrooms
hands over hands, the cracked
knuckle precipice
in all my years of searching
I have only found
myself.
AKASHIC RECORDS SOLD AS VINYL
cringe worthy
James worthy
sponge worthy
we are not
worthy
the amphitheatre crowd
before its time
alpha waves
behind the eyes
Akashic records
sold as vinyl
and what a name for a store
it is good to slow the mind
and have the words want to say
themselves
authorship
is a gangly
goose
as much yours
as
mine.
DRILL HOLES
The sound of drill holes
and I sympathize with lumber
lay in bed for fourteen straight hours
imagining death rays large enough
to incinerate the Romantics
to take language
and throw it in a shopping cart
with the rest of the cans
so everyone
can see everyone
else
on a mattress on the floor
that could almost
be a bed.
JUST ANOTHER ANOTHER
My house was never haunted
and I kind of resented ghosts
for that
for the longest time
was I not good enough?
just another another…
seven innings of chewing tobacco
working on a no-hitter
the fire alarm pulled instead
of my leg
those idiots on safari
that insist on getting out
of their cars
surprised when they are mauled
to death
by apex predators
and when the mosquito bit my leg
I thought of tow trucks waiting
for the markets to crash
enough plastic in the oceans
to reconstruct Hollywood
ten times over
closing airspace
fast as Blockbuster
Videos
Hemingway got up early
for rewrites, I guess I’m lazy
the way it meets the page
is the way it is;
one of us is right
and he has an estate
children and lawyers
that squabble over the scraps
still,
I think noses
should be cleared like names
if you can
hindsight
is the historical record
with ego
banker’s hours
and a shortage of
cement
protests
closing the highway
so you miss your dentist’s
appointment.
VEGETARIAN
I’m so close to being a vegetarian,
she says.
I can tell she has stayed up all night
watching all those slaughterhouse videos
on YouTube again.
She knows I can’t stand steak
or pork chops
or even sausages which she
has a soft spot for.
Anything but ground meat
is beyond me.
As long as I don’t have to see it,
I fully admit.
Guilty as charged.
I am closer to being a vegetarian than her.
But I like my meat.
And she does too
even though she won’t
admit it.
We are carnivores, I say,
why do you think I bite down
so hard on your nipples
each time you moan?
She smiles
and that is how things
begin.
STARK RAVING DRINKING WATER
What came out of the taps
was elbows,
the Greek money shot of Byronic love
opening a savings account
in the Andorran Pyrenees,
funnel cake to money laundering
bakers with at least two dogs
in the fight and one in the audience,
a frosted window voyeur in the classic
stalker sense, on a Hollywood watch list
because of high-powered binoculars into
plush A-list bedrooms,
rehydrating on cups of stark
raving drinking water,
imagining window washers
as King Kong enthusiasts
with buckets,
new to the country
and the popular etiquette,
and when he turned on the television
he looked for clues,
the channels were there to trick you
into a comfortable numbering system,
sitting in the dark knowing there was
no such thing as vampires.
Today’s LittleNip:
KINGSTON PEN
—Ryan Quinn Flanagan
When
the
old
Kingston
pen
closed
down
many
men
were
moved
like
rearranging
a
bouquet
of
flowers.
__________________
—Medusa, with our thanks to Ryan Flanagan from above the border for his fine poetry today, reminding us that Halloween is just around the corner!
When
the
old
Kingston
pen
closed
down
many
men
were
moved
like
rearranging
a
bouquet
of
flowers.
__________________
—Medusa, with our thanks to Ryan Flanagan from above the border for his fine poetry today, reminding us that Halloween is just around the corner!
Celebrate poetry!
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then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
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