Tag Archives: dennis mahagin

PALE LEMON FIRE IN A PARTLY CLOUDY AUTUMN, poem by Dennis Mahagin

Near­ly noon, on Thurs­day late Octo­ber, and I see the trees sway­ing with­in a wind that means only busi­ness, no fra­grant breeze here, no idle bur­lesque: mere­ly rote screams, blue note egress from boughs with fore­sight and worse, they bite … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Jimmy the Baker’s Pocket MFA, poem by Dennis Mahagin

Read­ing is easy, writ­ing is hard; so we watch a lit­tle TV, sour­dough loaf, fudge brown­ie, our very souls becom­ing human scones, juicy peach cob­bler, reluc­tant steam from pie holes, each to her own nour­ish­ing scene, edi­fied, seri­al­ly and hor­rif­i­cal­ly … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Squeaky Wheel Gets the Nitrous Oxide, poem by Dennis Mahagin

Car­ry on, wis­dom, as if eye teeth depend­ed, floss, floss, don't let them fit you for insane. Lips make a purse, spit out the Jol­ly Ranch­er, get on your bike again. Rot­ten molars, a hail of bul­lets. My hygien­ist is buy­ing … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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The Unbearably Penultimate of Parable, poetry by Dennis Mahagin

I drove over the fat rope thing that made the bells ding and ling and then this grease mon­key appeared at my open win­dow, wear­ing braid­ed pony­tail with his Speed Rac­er eyes, bran­dish­ing a tat­tered broach rag thing he whipped … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Newbie Down Undah, poetry by Dennis Mahagin

After the Nar­cotics Anony­mous meet­ing, they stopped to chat under a maple tree in the park­ing lot; she said to him "so… you wan­na get cof­fee at the IHOP, hon?" He replied "awwww … some place, yeah, but real­ly, any­where, … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Quick Impersonal Update

I've updat­ed the FARE page (Den­nis Mahagin's chap­book from Red­neck Press due out 12÷9÷11). We have new work forth­com­ing from Math­er Schnei­der, Jeff Wal­lace and Kurt Tay­lor. As well, I've updat­ed the inter­views and pub­li­ca­tions pages list­ed under my biog­ra­phy. … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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Poems by Dennis Mahagin

Blues For Bil­ly C I'm used to being fucked but it's not what you think; flip me a cou­ple bucks? I won't trip, I don't drink. A show­er of vio­let misty steam feels good. Costs four bucks at Pilot truck­stop … Con­tin­ue read­ing

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