Everyday
I count the battleships
Many more, many more do come
In your backyard we eat potato chips
The grey hulls show on water
as if like instruction manuals at night
We cut our hair
to celebrate the information . . . their information
I’ve left the canned chili in the cupboard on purpose
Rodger God comes for the blueprints
And we continue to count many more specks,
many more
on the horizon
We have to hide the information from
they hid theirs from us
You know, the fucked up eyes and fingers
Let us break those fingers and plant the turquoise
in the ground
for the squirrels to love in spring
Go there now in Corvettes,
GMAC Financing has zero percent A.P.R.
Go to the big big bay to see
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
novamartinpoetry.com 