 |
| Ryan Quinn Flanagan |
An Apple a Day Keeps the Orchard Away
The last time I visited the medical unprofessionals,
they told me the tree was losing all its bark
which is a not-so-nice way of slow walking Ayahuasca
zombies into mass deforestation,
sampling platters of reindeer meat less than
20 days out from someone’s twinkling Christmas,
and I think of a fully loaded Burroughs, playing William Tell
with his only wife, in that dusty Mexican bar by the border
full of tourist dollar guacamole and prideful toe jam Huaraches;
an apple a day keeps the orchard away,
stretches out all those muscles in Gitmo pygmy traction,
finds a use for the long unused which may seem half-admirable
on its surface which is why torture is not a marble
countertop or anything you may find in your pocket,
even if you were looking.
***
Demi-glace Gods
Nothing worse than being sauced
for other sauces,
demi-glace gods spooning out
all the simmering half-baked worship
at discount prices
and they say a dog and its human
grow to look more like each other
as the years go on,
the same is true of writers
and their writing
which does not bode well for me
or damn near anyone else
in this fluttering rapid eye
butterfly net world;
the food channel always there
when you are hungry,
fleecing tigers turned into rugs
like a highly unusual black shoeshine
way of roaring.
***
Beer Garden Faces
All those red faces in the beer garden.
Roped off like slaughterhouse cattle.
Leaning in to yell old stories
that never really happened,
at least not like that.
Boiling without shade,
popular music pumped through
four giant black speakers
working the four corners.
All the kiddies left to entertain one another
in the playground outside.
The older ones throwing dirt
into the eyes of the younger ones
who begin to wail.
Along the beach at Georgian Bay.
Where my uncle Kevin was fished out
of the water when he drowned
at the age of 9.
***
Jovial Microbial
There is no reason not to smile,
even if such gestures go sight unseen;
when you find yourself outside the popular theatre,
some jovial microbial looking to branch out
into the many Turkish bathhouses of Little Ankara,
some 157lbs steam and sauna regular
fighting with numerous questionable thread count towels
like some close shave crusader looking to get
to the Holy Land in seven steps or less
as if anyone is counting.
***
Never Mind the Card Sharp
I have minted the coins
you will one day call collectibles.
Sat in hot tubs with hot pumping fondue
jet engines on the mini.
Stood over congealing glug glug shave water,
raking my aging dumb Prufrock
down to absolute zero.
Never mind the card sharp.
His many skilled tricks of deception.
A crowd will always blind itself through
a single conforming Belief and the sheer
volume of distractions.
There is a reason the loner is despised so much.
But forget about all that, I have teeth
that won’t whiten themselves.
Animals just back from Safari
that can’t stop raving about all the watering
holes that almost find themselves.
***
Outstanding! Love this guy's poetry.
ReplyDeleteTerrific work! I love the allusions, the incongruent associations and aberrant flow of ideas.
ReplyDelete