from “the Empath Dies in the End” coming out soon
Luminol Part 1 by Ryan Quinn Flanagan There is primrose to your pageantry, I assure you! That Nureyev of glide-less marionettes, burial chambers of the once sacrosanct now looted of moving treasures. Advancement through the pay scale, another sort of dance entirely. part 2 by David L O'Nan There are ecosystems decaying under your watch, I assure you! I watch you with fire in my eyes, juggling chainsaws again, You’re determined to derail the freight train. You’ve smashed your art to the submission, marbled smashings Francois Millet’s The Gleaners, in wet trash and curly dandelion bits. A thought that you could become the next Prophet cursing out orders from the bema. Screaming out Exodus quotes, Disgracing Peleshet, while you’re scrubbing the floors. The Milk and sugar are becoming more valuable and expensive down these roads. These roads, once of gold, now of blood, now of clarity once the luminol is glowing The sins, the creek snakes seem to have more knowledge than the townsfolk and television hoaxes. They claimed to meet Jesus during the throwing stones. When the lightning burnt the sick From the grounds, low and holding the curve of the cane, the rainstorm came alive and began Walking hot lit water all over our skin. Your skin seemed to light up more than the rest. Do you have a confession? The marionettes will not glide, but they do talk. Yes, they do talk and they aren’t always that wooden smile and programmed like a dream. There are some that just dance, dance by the endless dying. I run my arm under the sun, from blood to the skin that reflects in my dancing, dying pupils. I carved a few rambling sentences into my muscles, soon to become some new bible. Heaven comes from the dreams of light and comes from …. Oh, did you say you have a confession? They never run out of luminol here. Poetry Showcase for Ryan Quinn Flanagan Current bio for Fevers of the Mind’s David L O’Nan editor/writing contributor to blog.
Oh, heavy, deep, dark stuff…I’ve stumbled into a nightmare, but – I guess – one man’s nightmare is another’s desire, or curse… or is it?!