In this advanced age, I’m quite satisfied with a nano probe
makes GPS obsolete, a la cart, apres horse, fixes my blog spot
with spell check. Proves I was here. In my tingling left ear lobe,
stick it, w/ ruby, conspiracy theory: All Kennedys are Rorschach.

And a stud, sporting lustrous hair? Who shaves his head? No longer irks
me so,– not when the instrument of my karma grows … ever closer, day
by day, by day. I wish he’d step out, into the light, offer meaningful work
atop a crow’s nest: mariner’s monologue means I’ve had nothing to say
all along;– that I’m a phantom who mumbles useless lyrics to U-2 songs.
A guy my age, supposedly advanced? Ought to be nursing Nest Egg, a fit
from Stonewash. 52-size Wranglers hawked by Brett “FARVE” goes a long
way, to get along. And yet, and yet: –I keep hearing sirens with zero quit
in the timbre. They’re the ball turret wailers, dropping tracers: God cares
enough to write the very last line, before we ever got there.

DENNIS MAHAGIN’S poems & stories have appeared in 3 A.M., Exquisite Corpse, Absinthe Literary Review, Juked, 42opus, Storyglossia, Smokelong Quarterly, Thieves Jargon, and Frigg Magazine. He lives and works in Washington state.


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