Bat Thoughts
by Chris Crittenden


a wild kick
lifted our straight-laced ancestors,

up into a cave
where there were no linear quests.

the chase at the end of the tunnel
was a higgledy-piggledy loop.

now

we laugh like squeaks,
cherish a doomed and bottomless blue,

as we dance
in snarls of quadrille and septet,

sextain and pentagram.

every night
in a funnel of ferocious lust,

a dying slap from a charred god
spins us flickering

into space.









Copyright 2019 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.