nothing frightens me more
than religion at my door


Max Protetch, Winter, 2003

He Said, She Said
-- by Dennis Mahagin

Tiger wrapped a Caddy 'round a tree,
only then they began to pour, ceaselessly
out of the woodwork ... hardly banshees,
or even sirens, but more than vaguely
skeletal-couture, with litigator shoes

in tow; yet myself, I'll have you
know was reading William Blake when the story
broke, with a classic rock song simultaneously stuck
in my head, a slow-blues version of a Beatles favorite
made fashionably current by a Government

Mule, the best part of the catchy tune being
a change-up in the middle, when quirky waltz time
usurps a straight-eight beat, wise old Lennon threw
that in, big as Jesus, it was in fact John's genius--not
caring fuck one iota what a general populace thought

about signature
time, how he got off, with Yoko
or not ... even how it feels to be
stalked, Christ, that song got
to me, the way a bluesy singer

named W. Haynes with lion mane
and virtuoso chops could take a pop song
and wring out a dog leg see saw of purest
pain, tuft of blue grass tossed windward, through
symmetry, through dobro, tract fire, sycophantic

baiting of a too-tall totem with four degree
three iron in an electrical storm ... So I hummed
this tune, ceaseless it seemed, and said to my
"Self now a Tiger knows how it feels
to blow with B. Blake a most furious

blues rune..." A week, or even more went
by, that stubborn song kept making my
morning news, and young T. Woods
took it all out on his next drive
went about 425

yards.


* "An artist is a dreamer consenting to dream of the actual world. " -- George Santayana