You wear logos.
The wearing of logos
makes you
feel good.
It makes you who you are.
You are the person
wearing logos
with meaning.
Your meaning is
to be a person and
to wear logos,
to wear the marks of
corporations.
Corporations are
people too.
You give them a voice.
They speak through you.
In your sacred moments here.
Corporations are
sacred too.
If they are not… then why are they?
Month: September 2017
The slaves have gone.
Euripedes, Thucycles;
the slaves have not gone.
The slaves have left their
robes and linens.
Their guitars and banjos
are leaning on the fence.
The slaves take down
the senator’s eye
and in place
put in the olive seed.
They eat and sleep in
the commoners’ homes,
the track houses and
cheap apartments,
not starting a revolution
that starts a revolution.
The slaves.
When will the markets fall?
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this.
The futile obsolescence is
faith.
The pillaged and raped tomorrow
being the rich in this hour
with their orange groves.
The ghosts of the Palatine know
this
and yet they build more skyscrapers
in New York City
where the water is rising
and will rise before the migration
to space is possible
and the fiends of eternity will
perish.
A river runs through my ass,
a ball of worlds.
Pissing and shitting,
a Neanderthal of time.
A ball of worlds. The owner of words.
Perhaps a turd.
An invitation to intellectualism.
A turd. A toilet.
A turd and a toilet,
I dig for survivors.
In the face of things
I again survive,
even watch the sunrise,
my farthest Laura of the Petrarch.
The intellectualism hast not survived,
I am Son of Man.
Amended. Amended.
A toilet. A toilet.
– from Antipoémus
My penis pisses barbecue sauce.
I run for the presidency.
I remove my penis.
The people now understand the presidency.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
A giant car,
the size of 30 Empire State Buildings
rose up before the metroplex of Dallas-Fort Worth.
Holding aloft in the sky,
holding all dominion,
it towered over 1 billion miles of highway.
The highways ran left and right
as far as the eye could see,
merging into Space
and Infinity at the edge of the horizon.
Speckled here and there were signs for
AppleBee’s,
Wal-Mart,
McDonald’s,
and Home Depot.
This colossal of car held sway
and took place of the 5 million people
living down below, back on the ground.
The remainder of the cars,
that the seven and a half million people
once used,
got up and walked to the ocean.
I want to feel small.
I am a woman.
I have seen advertisements
all my life.
In them,
women are always
smaller
than men.
When I played with dolls
as a little girl
the female dolls were always
three times as skinny as
the male dolls.
For these reasons,
I want to feel small.
I understand this to be love
and
emotional security
and the reality behind
economics;
needs created.
Driving in a BMW®
the air feels warmer and warmer.
Driving in a BMW®
penises get larger and larger.
A flower rests on cow leather.
On the way to a funeral,
driving in a BMW®
young William knows nothing of
his loss.
Tater tots press into the seats.
A cartoon squelches on screen.
Tinted windows blot out clouds.
Children refrain from speaking.
Driving in a BMW®
life is a luxury.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I have a TV in one room.
I go into the other room to watch the other TV.
Call it the Hall of Wisdom if you want.
I drink my sodas at the half hour of every hour.
Call it the Sacredness of Life at this point;
the Hours of Opportunity,
the Attainment of Ability;
purchasing.
I go out into the world.
It’s dark.
Only insects, lamplight, and night.
You’re not there.
Evil is though.
Lots of evil is out there,
all around in the night.
The trees gather closely
over the sidewalk.
These trees know how to live
with good and evil.
Humanity does not.
So I am scared.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
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