Throwing Shade He says it is nothing like discus. Kind of like the javelin and less like medicine balls. This one who talks like he competed in the Olympics. A red Gold’s Gym muscle shirt to show off his veiny arms. Making his pecs bounce around whenever the young girls from…
Category: Ryan Quinn Flanagan
A Selection of Poems from Ryan Quinn Flanagan
I Pointed Just In Case She Didn’t Know Where Space Was I was down in the red light district collecting warm blankets for the elderly, I was there for UNICEF so children with their war-torn fingers blown off could finger each other again with the help of silicon valley prosthetics the VA had been…
A Fire Escape Back Down to Gravity by Ryan Quinn Flanagan.
If you can’t stand the length of professional basketball, the width of sumo wrestling from video game Japan will confound you, leave you sucking back Vietnam-era defoliants in the dark looking for game show door prizes behind smudged crybaby peep holes that claim to have called the cops and there is no reason to disbelieve…
10 Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Stick He pulled it out and it was homemade like a pie. The cold metal end of a screwdriver and the handle fat with tape. The other combatant backed off when he saw it, but he was backed into an alley with no escape. Forced to play matador to a charging…
Lost & Found Gods that could have Been Worshipped by Anybody by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Blast moved to rural Argentina. The first thing he did was take to horses and burn his passport. It had his real name from a previous life and the sun that ate through the back of his neck each day demanded something different. His parents sat in dusty old bingo halls where the winter still…
Soot in the Window by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Soot in the Window Do you remember your last love? I know of soot in the window like gangly stockinged legs peering down upon the avenues. Blowing failed smoke rings into the stratosphere. Do you get naked in change rooms? The mirrors are there to judge you because the church couldn’t make it….
Another 3:30 in the Morning Poem by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Another 3:30 in the Morning Poem I am drunk and in my underwear. There is thunder now and some lightning a distance away. The lights flicker and the music slows. I think of whip dancers in the village, of powdered milk and the Colossus at Rhodes. I wonder when the power will go out,…
#3 This Time by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
#3 This Time He walked into the room third in line and faced the mirror like the voice said. It was like god was telling him to face forward turn left turn right. Then he was lead out of room and back to his cell. And instructed not to turn around until…
