said something unkind
and I remember weaving slowly
back and forth
on one of those spinning stools
like an Indian cobra
working on a
trance.
The next thing I recall
I was standing in my bathroom
at home
losing layers of dried blood
and showering
with industrial
soap.
The cops never showed
and I didn’t ask any
questions.
As far as I can tell
I have not killed anyone
to date.
Although
I must be honest,
I seldom read the papers
these days.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire. Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts." His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.
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