August 2017 – novamartinpoetry.com

S.T.R.E.N.G.T.H. Cats

In the middle of the night I awake
to the smell of bacon and eggs in the air.

The people of the world
are outside on the lawn cooking bacon and eggs
for the President of the United States.

The United States military is standing all around them,
pointing guns at them
while they cook bacon and eggs for the President.

They give him the eggs of their daughters,
their ovaries for an American football match,
a contest of strength.

The President is the Signifier of Penis.
This sentence is the signifier of rape.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

from:

Antipoémus (poetry book)

Poems

Millennial Sheeple Fetishest

I wuz
masturbating
to that new app that
came out
cuz when I’m dying
I wans sumz ones
to take my digital phone
and shove it down
my throat
to save me.

Poems

Clown Presidential

I defend the family.
I stand upon the balance.
I defend the family.
I stand upon my head.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

HumbleHumbleLove, Poems

Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.
Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.
But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:

Humble, Humble Love (poetry book)

Poems

Saturn

Saturn came to destroy
M-16 deliverance

a wall falls
on a family of peasants in China

the free world elects a president

a tyrant takes his post in the leftover lands
of Persia

technology beats bayonets

a tank crushes cans of food

somewhere at latitudes north of northwest
Saturn is crushing the spark of
new gravity

Saturn is man’s holy alliance,
his walled cathedrals and the
tapestries of mosques

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

As Molt The Superlands

In the first 100 days
we welcomed you as bone

through the corridor of the white temple,

next we enter the brown one,
for era
and its sunlight.

The beige cities pass on the way
and you walk the outskirts of the crowded districts,

like tourists, you count your days there,

but harvesters with celestial migrations bring
crops, dust, and pollinators
in from the orbitals

until at the last changing of color
you throw away your ribcage,

as you no longer need it,

pressed and known into terrestrial soil,
been done and dispersed in the rain.

Clouds come and go like spaceships
for the bodies
in the journey through the temples.

SuperNations are inconsequential,
as are Kingdoms and SuperLeaders,
encoded information.

The orb is everexistent.

The word is priyama,
the body priyamay.

The deliverance has been delivered.
The breath is threshed.
The stars are ponies.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

What A Simulation Chances

Architectural structural changes.
How can we let him
make these changes,
David?
In his dreams.
Is this the David made
within the Bible
or a David made
within the cerebral tissues
during the dreaming sessions?
These mammals got to sleep.
Their world is made in there.
For he sleeps in the midnight
of Florida,
the tension between every moment’s
nothingness
moving onward onward always.

Poems

Entertainment Plaiming

Crystal,
let us forget the consequences,

crystal,
let us leave the planet.

Although our settings were incorrect,
crystal somehow propelled us
into the outer orbits of stars,

by Penthius and Glaxxian,

where one can see oneself
in the mirror between dimensions.

And rocks and dust fell outside the window
as
we headed towards that point in Space
to where we did not know we were going.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

A New Pathway Of Economy

No one wants to work today.

Is it going to be that kind of day,

where all the people line up outside
along buildings,
buildings with red bricks
and discuss politics?

Politics are working, and so are people.

Who is unfortunate to not work,
to not be a part of the system?

Who is that sad faced woman over there,
disheveled and confused in the sun,
plastic bags wrapped around her feet,
a couple hairs on her chin,
searching
for food in the parking lot of a superstore?

The superstore is working so far,
with people working in it.
More people will work with smiles now
because the day before,
when people didn’t want to work,

is over,

and
in a new town
these people are happy to work.

They work for their living.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin