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August 08, 2022

Hay Wire

By Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Hay Wire

Just a single golden wisp, protruding from greasy urban face,
a lonely hay wire couch sat on patterned installment plan fabric,
chewed so that our bent hay wire becomes frayed,
plugged into the wall mouth of another electrical talker;
the fire marshal warned me about this, how the sudden spark
of your words could ignite --
watching that wet humming outlet of your faulty lips,
I think of spittle through craggy patchwork beards
and never once those long dark nights I cross my arms
over my chest so dusty hock shop Egypt will know I can
be another grave-robbed sarcophagus standing over the sink
on the cheap.






Article © Ryan Quinn Flanagan. All rights reserved.
Published on 2022-03-28
Image(s) are public domain.
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