{"id":837,"date":"2010-07-05T16:36:10","date_gmt":"2010-07-05T21:36:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?p=837"},"modified":"2010-07-05T16:36:10","modified_gmt":"2010-07-05T21:36:10","slug":"ryan-quinn-flanagan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/ryan-quinn-flanagan\/","title":{"rendered":"Ryan Quinn Flanagan"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>Chelsea<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>There was a time<br \/>\nwhen the world would not stop exploding,<br \/>\nbig bang adolescence in the wet dream denim<br \/>\nof modernity,<br \/>\nthere was a time when the centre of the universe<br \/>\nwas only a 90 minute drive from JFK<br \/>\nand 222, West 23rd St. (between Seventh and Eight Avenue)<br \/>\nwas the place to be.<br \/>\nDylan in room #205<br \/>\nwith eighteen shots of whiskey lined up<br \/>\ntrying to channel the ghost of Dylan Thomas,<br \/>\nLeonard in room #424<br \/>\nwith Janis just down the hall in room #411<br \/>\nlooking for lovers under the unmade bed<br \/>\nand in the outstretched arms of Southern Comfort,<br \/>\nNancy on the bathroom linoleum of room #100<br \/>\nwhile Sid was out,<br \/>\nJimi and Jim lost in the ten story hubris<br \/>\nof top 40 gods<br \/>\nand poppers in the lift,<br \/>\nwhere Mark Twain<br \/>\nand Arthur Miller once got lost in the inkwell<br \/>\nand Thomas Wolfe realized <em>you can\u2019t go home<\/em>,<br \/>\nJane Fonda,<br \/>\nJackson Pollock,<br \/>\nBrendan Behan,<br \/>\nSarah Bernhardt,<br \/>\nthere was a time when the energy of the ages<br \/>\ncollected under one roof,<br \/>\nin 400 rooms with no vacuum cleaners,<br \/>\nwhere optimism was a pseudo-science<br \/>\nand the short stems of Aquarius<br \/>\nburned at both ends,<br \/>\nthere was a time when the idiot savant domicile<br \/>\nof Youth<br \/>\neschewed sterility,<br \/>\nwhen <em>the sixties stumbled into the Chelsea <\/em><br \/>\n<em>with young, bloodshot eyes<\/em><br \/>\nand screamed&#8230;<br \/>\n<em> <\/em><br \/>\nBut everything is old now.<br \/>\nDead as a doornail.<br \/>\nA wheezing asthmatic\u2019s paradise.<br \/>\nLacking vitality<br \/>\nand soul.<br \/>\n<em> <\/em><br \/>\nThere was a time when anything goes<br \/>\nmeant just that\u2026<br \/>\n<em><\/em><br \/>\nNow,<br \/>\nyou can\u2019t even smoke in the lobby.<\/p>\n<p><em>Ryan Quinn Flanagan presently resides in Elliot Lake, Ontario,Canada. He is the author of three books of poetry, the most recent entitled <\/em><em>Pigeon Theatre (JTI Press). His work has recently appeared in <\/em><em>The New York Quarterly, <\/em><em>Red\u00a0Fez, Zygote in my Coffee, <\/em><em>Word Riot, Poems-For-All, Quills, and The Antigonish Review.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><strong><em> <\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Chelsea There was a time when the world would not stop exploding, big bang adolescence in the wet dream denim of modernity, there was a time when the centre of the universe was only a 90 minute drive from JFK and 222, West 23rd St. (between Seventh and Eight Avenue) was the place to be. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[58],"class_list":["post-837","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-july-2010","tag-ryan-quinn-flanagan"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v24.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Ryan Quinn Flanagan - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/2010\/07\/ryan-quinn-flanagan\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Ryan Quinn Flanagan - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Chelsea There was a time when the world would not stop exploding, big bang adolescence in the wet dream denim of modernity, there was a time when the centre of the universe was only a 90 minute drive from JFK and 222, West 23rd St. (between Seventh and Eight Avenue) was the place to be. 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