The Way to Leave Anything is to Step Away from the Nearness
by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
shock and garnish
all things gaping mouth-trap adaptable
I am always amazed at what people choose to fear
closet oddities murder scene scattered across the floor
the humming sky forever out of tune
riots in the streets where cheques were once cashed
cabbies without cars on the dole
salvation, you say?
there is no way to get there
the buses aren’t running
my eyes are freelance photographers deeply set:
heavy, bloodshot, immutable
under a rumpled hat of premature baldness
sitting on strange heads the same way say
a trained falcon sits
halfway down the arm, dreaming the death
bulging feathered appetite on display
the cornices of government buildings as good a place as any
lay low in the baritone tradition
watching short fish-like men erect electrical fences
to keep the master plan in
and I find myself in a public bathroom
gum-stuck to the wall:
take it or leave it.
I leave it.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his other half and mounds of snow. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.