Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee

A spec­tral kid named Swanly, deliv­ered shiv­ery Delta banjo licks
with mad love. Eyes rolled back, to the whites of Barry Hannah.

In the irre­ducible jet stream, fighter pilots whis­tle "Born on the
Bayou." Cryo­genic curly cues spell sonic boom: Barry Hannah.

Those tiparillo-smoking slot machine cat­fish, made a river­boat tilt
whiskers and sil­ver— when they all lined up, for Barry Hannah.

Some hum­ming­birds absconded with a Mis­soula log cabin, mid–
Feb­ru­ary, "This ain't your Dot, not any­more," said Barry Hannah.

Dark night in North Van­cou­ver Detox; with a shaky pen­light
I got awfully high on four lone­some sto­ries, by Barry Hannah.

A bevy of hip­pie glow sticks. So anti-Star wars. Yet, a Pen­sacola
Rain­bow Gath­er­ing : lime, dervish, penum­bra, cerise… Hannah.

Eighteen-toed eager alien bon­fire, in an Antares arroyo, they sighed
over a sleek meta-parchment, the only, brought back : One-Line

Epi­taph for Barry Hannah.

Den­nis Maha­gin is a writer from the Pacific North­west. He also edits fic­tion and poetry for FRiGG Mag­a­zine. Some of his work can be found in lit­er­ary venues such as Exquis­ite Corpse, Sto­ry­glos­sia, Smoke­long Quar­terly, Key­hole, 42opus, 3 A.M., Stir­ring, Thieves Jar­gon, and Under­ground Voices. An elec­tronic chap­book of his poetry appears in the cur­rent issue of Slow Trains Lit­er­ary Mag.