Poetry from Nova Martin – America's favorite transwoman feminist lesbian druidess poet
“Mob mentality allows us
to make fun of disabled children.
Mob mentality engenders us to say stuff like
‘Ah yeah, booyah bitch!’
Mob mentality solicits a group from loneliness,
from loneliness,
to support a Republican or a Democrat,
consent it to a president,
consent the apathy of
otherness.
Mob mentality is the great right right goodness
that defines an ignorant people.”
– Zebucus (at the Sea of Similarity)
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
A middle aged woman
driving underneath a
midsummer thunderstorm
in a Kia hatchback.
She used to be attractive,
but now she doesn’t see
women who look like her
in the magazines these days.
She’s a teacher.
Had her hand chopped off
in a combine
working in cornfields in Kansas
as a teenager.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
When I was impoverished
in the multiple different ways
did you mean
what it is to eat
in the restaurant chains
the role playing tourists
the people who have aunts and uncles
the specialized drinks
the unnaturalized offspring
the séances walked backwards
to be holding the dead
in the waiting area spilled fajita meat
was picked up
by
a person
with
back
problems
now, the séances walk forward
the superchurches are peopled
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
A world without elasticity
builds long memories in my dreams.
The world of having a job,
riding a train,
dreaming of retirement.
As I come in and see the
tall buildings.
Every second in time, I see,
this gets more and more
attuned.
The manner in which this is
all
broken into
perfectly controlled sectors
I cannot count.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Capitalism is addiction.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes, it is.
Alien heads,
oh alien heads
laid in bed
looking at a planet
they’ve
come from
so very far away
I laid with
a woman with
an alien head,
the shape of a
suburban housewife’s bob,
the genetic memories
where she came from,
across our
luscious cells.
We stare at the window
blinds
where there is some form
of day
and leftover red
radiated Martian air
that’s out there.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
You live with it,
you sleep with it.
It’s your computer.
You take it to the shed,
there is wood and wood to chop,
your computer sits in front of
a can of turpentine.
The grass grows tall outside,
you are at a farm in Texas.
O Penthius!
Penth Fist!
our world is made of bone and air!
The sun shines in through the window
onto your computer.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Not to masturbate
for lovers long gone
I learned there that night
shooting my semen into the river.
My heart was beating.
The moon was her boobies.
She held my brow.
My semen bubbled, foamed-up,
and drifted away.
I write the Senate Commissioner’s Bill.
My penis hangs low
on the banks of the Potomac.
I’m an inside traitor.
The cattail wavers. I go away
through the darkness
commissioned at the end of
the last century.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Who’s been noticing
the urine stains in my underwear?
Who requested
the memories that I lost?
Who’s been etching a rock
upon is claimed “there is asylum”?
… the Apostles?
Who cuts the grass
when the current lawn boy moves away
(not from this place, but from himself)?
Will the next lawn boy stay,
and find meditation
in his chores of repetition?
… all of us … do we?
Who fed me sodium all my life?
In amounts extreme;
an addiction to such spice
my liver must I trust.
The timbers of my blood have fallen.
Do you have the courage of imagination
to raise them?
Do you know the conifer-king of
ionized ever-greens?
… only one;
the answer or the question,
the animal or the human.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
“I believe that freedom and commerce
are values worthy of defending,
that those who may try to shake
the foundation of American prosperity
shall be ineffectual in their attempts.
I believe that terrorism and terrorists
no longer have caves to hide in,
nor governments to protect them,
that all the world is allied
in the fight for the preservation of
what is good.
I believe in a high protein, low fat diet.
And that the evil ones shall be dealt
a great talk with freedom.
Americans, knowledgeable,
sleep tight by your justice,
an economy awaits whose perseverance
shall triumph
the resiliency of freedom.”
— My President Of The Shakespeare
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
novamartinpoetry.com 