A poem by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
up
in the beak
of the kingfisher
there are no survivors
only a view,
panoramic death glide
with pharmaceuticals
many tiny overturned vials
in the next room
like collapsed buildings
the soot-faced still in shock
tired faulty lungs of
asbestos
and Ornette Coleman for ears,
what a notion –
monies in the couch cushions
like something forgotten
and fossilized
the spines of books broken
so men with pages for hearts
can ink-cry.
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.
The Drunken Llama 