Chandelier
Man
Hang yourself
from the ceiling
and you are not
some antique shop
chandelier on
popular display.
A conversation
piece, perhaps.
But not how you
or anyone else
expected.
And think of
the one who walks
in on you,
dangling there with stinking
lifeless
tendrils as legs.
Didn’t even
leave a note.
Always a man of
few words.
42
Hours A Day
See the neck of
the white horse
gone blue.
Hammering at
splintered proxies
42 hours a day.
Some
Nietzsche-approved abyss
only fit for
books and bridesmaids.
Great guided
meter maids
of street
premonition.
The
meaninglessness of a fake Rolex
in a mass
grave.
Thick confetti
beds of master lime.
A harvest of
malingerers.
Barely
surface-scratched
and never
bountiful.
Mastodon
Zero
Little Big Horn
Texas Longhorn
ain’t seen a
decent scuffle
on my shoes or
in my years
no preamble
sweaty revelers
trample
the quickest
way out
fleeing bullet
train damsel
sling and arrow
heroes
it’s down to
Mastodon Zero
fury bulging
eyes
never look the
other way
belly arson
fire
snitch wears a
wire
along for the
ride
goring tusk
without pride
wide mouth
loudmouth freefall
it’s down to
Mastodon Zero.
RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN
RYAN QUINN FLANAGAN is a Canadian-born
author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears
that rifle through his garbage. His work
can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The
New York Quarterly, Our Poetry Archive, Setu, Literary Yard, and The Oklahoma
Review.
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