"When I coughed I saw fireflies…"
Hindsight is 20. With twenty twenties, at Happy Hour, burning
pin holes in the eyeball of a dollar bill > pyramid. In God, whatever.
Luckily, pimps, repo men and beat cops are not Machiavellian
;otherwise we'd all be in a serious frigging…world. Of whatever.
Those beatific Puget Sound ferry boats! Maritime parade floats.
Mutant birthday cakes of buoyancy! Thousand points of Whatever.
Gurgling, pssssssssst! Ahhhhhhh! goes the youth,
with curling wisps of smoke. Foam, sure. Whatever.
Cajole, via picante and guacamole. With four-buck Rita pitchers
salting the rim of my ambivalence. Skoal. Chin Chin. Whatever.
Hard on a deviated septum: Scents of eternal spring and impending
death commingling like knotholes and sap. For the rest of whatever.
The Mind / Body Dichotomy? Appearing in a camisole bi-nightly
with dark lipstick corner of forty second avenue, and whatever.
From all you've surmised, to what you must realize, lies
the impossible ten thousand mile fault line, of whatever.
Yet harsh, harsher and harshest
still, the Trinity: Further; sun; wholly
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.
A print collection ("Grand Mal") is coming from Rebel Satori Press.