FEATURED POET: Ryan Quinn Flanagan

There was nothing but altitude below sea level.
I was blue in the aquarium’s face.  Large orcas showed
monstrous fins of concern.  Starfish leapt off someone’s homework
assignment down into the tank.  Sharks circled back as if
trying to retrace the steps of the lost.  And the coral was bleached.
I decided it was a load of laundry.  The obstruction in my airway
refusing to dislodge itself.  Some miserable war-drunk despot
trying to hold onto power.  Each time I cleared my throat a distant
church bell rang.  I thought of dried chewing gum under the pews
taking in the hallelujahs each Sunday.  Of briny miracles from the pulpit.
Stained glass windows so elaborate that code breakers were brought
in to admire them.  And back down in the tunnel under the water
the flash from picture takers.  As I fell to one knee.  The sounds
of choking and many black dots.  A lone octopus with its
tentacles into everything.