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Joe Mahoney

     I am a software exec. and I do secret internet foo. I live near Boston, Massachusetts and spend a lot of time in San Francisco.
     I began writing poetry a few years ago in a brave but ultimately feckless attempt to stave off a canonical entrapment breakdown.
     I sometimes write with a pseudonym: Yorick_Nixon. I also write music and play musical instruments. I was a member of Boston noise band Inner Beauty and San Francisco improv combo Senator Buchanon. With the members of Inner Beauty I co-authored a pre-web internet published dystopic novel entitled "Skunk Angst".
     Any spare time I have I read Shakespeare or listen to Bach. Bach seems to be the one thing all nerds agree on. I've lost touch with my culture. Though my friend Janet has turned me onto Cat Power. My only firmly held cultural belief is that Chan Marshall of Cat Power is kind of a babe.

 

 

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Joe Mahoney


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poems
website
e-mail
    Sonnet

    Leave me? Fuck it.
    It's okay. I have
    Love's dirt path
    Etched inside my bucket.

    And even death
    The fat umpire
    Drunk with fire
    And meadow's breath,

    Its gymnastic swizzle,
    Heedlessly rutting,
    Is finally shutting
    His fucking phizzle

    For once.
    Like you wanted.

     
    Bad Physics Grade

    Something blonde
    And dangerous
    Got into my chest
    Like a second heart.

    And spun in place
    Like a diamond cutting
    Catastrophe
    On a gallactic scale

    With all the deep humming energy
    Of elements divorcing.

     

    Umbrellas

    Two black umbrellas
    Twirling sweetly
    Out of a miserable
    May sky

    And turning nothing
    Into black poppies

     

    The Girl Who Laughed Like Unmortared Brickwork

    There once was a contestant
    Hair like laughing gas

    Sadly loved a girl so beautiful
    She brought clouds down to the tree tops

    Sad, not knowing just up the hill,
    In the swirling underbrush of Sutro forest,
    She shared her wares and shapely finitude with winos

    Unfurled her Cole Valley wings
    Into slack coffee scenes; found a kind of meaning
    In the arithmetic of poured excess and damp gravel.

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