Specular reflections

Posted by Rich Magahiz Fri, 20 Jun 2008 00:30:00 GMT

that sweet abyss:
“yes, yes”

shot full of holes, the substance of our dreams

Sklar, Gibson, and Yong –
their lungs full of
something grey…

floors turn into ceilings (halfway there)

she had to go back…
the smell of burning hair

the purple ones are the girls, I think

there, boy, look!
that nebula there
that was your father

I count the stars; each one flares and dims

he tells her
“put on your other face,
the other

flecked with hot sauce: angel wings, deep-fried

text, don’t write:
my senses have taken
leave of me

they took a risk. who remembers them?

the loudest prayer
ever said…

and it was answered

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2008, the Year of Our Lords

Posted by Rich Magahiz Tue, 20 May 2008 12:53:00 GMT

her fat melts away
not the way
she’d intended

bank manager’s desk: a sulphrous haze

as we had been told
our guns were useless,

with rockstar teeth, your friend’s head swivels

pretty roomy inside
and she gets good

mall rat gawks: “that’s what cordwood’s like”

his strong arms…
that’s not my Daddy

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Ninjutsu No Shoppingtown

Posted by Rich Magahiz Sun, 02 Mar 2008 23:33:00 GMT

the wall of the Food Court - stars march up

inside the nail salon: Clan Jade Claws

perched dragon style: the loading dock sleeps

like water they part, Big and Tall Men

escalator down; the swish of bamboo

this septum-pierced punk - you too must fall

naked the sun shines… a lithe dark shape

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The Wolf-Rayet beauty

Posted by Rich Magahiz Sat, 01 Mar 2008 01:34:00 GMT

I’d say
that one’s hot -
entering a room
walls buckle, the lights shift to blue,
sensitive meat seismometers trace out pressure waves,
and spacetime folds bend to accommodate the incarnate representation of ‘hot.’

Hats off to my friend Ian whose comment suggested the image.

Suhail al Muhlif: The brightest O-type star and one of only four WR stars bright enoughto have been observed spectroscopically in UV by COPERNICUS.

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The five stages of middle age

Posted by Rich Magahiz Sat, 26 Jan 2008 14:54:00 GMT


in his forties,
was years before his peak.
So what’s the rush? I’ve still got loads
of time.


that young pipsqueak
doesn’t deserve that car.
I raced Mustangs when he played with
Hot Wheels.


I’ll lose some weight,
and switch to light beer too.
I’ll show my old lady I’ve still
got it.


Hang on,
maybe there’s a way.
If I could sell this place…
Dammit, what’s the use, who am I


Ali –
he missed his chance
at gradual decay.
Strange to picture him living to
my age.

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this machinery of grace

Posted by Rich Magahiz Sun, 30 Dec 2007 04:45:00 GMT

an outer ring of heck
smelling of

her hands full of cloud tissues of scorn

Lee’s redoubt
where dark lines find
their griefs multiply

an ounce of ash and that too soon gone

tender to the bone
our enemies
our hearts’ ease

how long this machinery of grace?

her life list:
a spidery red hand,
then nothing

the sea sucks at the rock… pink-flushed foam

first bacteria
then fungi
kiss their host

the coldest flame: we all wear our pyres

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