Whatever You Do To The Least Ghazal, by Dennis Mahagin

"When I coughed I saw fireflies…"

–Denis John­son

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.

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5 Responses to Whatever You Do To The Least Ghazal, by Dennis Mahagin

  1. Ellen Parker says:

    Leave it to Maha­gin to have the last word on … whatever.

  2. Steve Hansen says:

    I'll see what I have that's close to "rur­al fic­tion." Oth­er­wise, tqrstories.com's two fea­tured sto­ries are bang up rur­al fic­tion, imo. Any­how, I real­ize that just ask­ing for hon­orary red­neck sta­tus is break­ing all kinds of fried chick­en pro­to­col, so no sweat. I just liked the idea of hav­ing that par­tic­u­lar title.

  3. Rusty says:

    Well, gimme a link, Steve. Or send me a story.

  4. Alicia Gifford says:

    Loved this, what­ev­er (you knew that was com­ing, whatever).

  5. Steve Hansen says:

    Shouldn't it be "furthur"? Ken Kesey and all that. Nice poem. It kind of depressed me, but in a drunk sit­ting at the bar rumi­nat­ing on … what­ev­er kin­da way. 

    Hey. What do I haf­ta do to become an hon­orary red­neck, too, Rusty?

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