By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
THE SKY AND THE NO SKY SPILLING STARS LIKE PARLOUR ROOM GOSSIP Had this dream where they lined those powdered doughnut horses up for general inspection. Whipped a few of the more wilful into snorting sidestep position. Then I stepped away and found myself on some old train tarmac looking for my luggage. The conductor with a whistle all the dogs could hear seemed eager to leave. The sky threatening to rain while distant muggers threatened everything else, I was sure of it. My luggage lost as I was. The neighing man beside me pretending to be some horse in evening dress. That way I stared would have made anyone else most uncomfortable. Fingering that punched ticket hole in my pocket. The sky and the no sky spilling stars like parlour room gossip. Some coal in the stocking woman running for a one puff train eternally in the black and looking to make its well-teased bustier run for the hills.
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, Borderless Journal, GloMag, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
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