March 2021 – novamartinpoetry.com

Poems

Le Subway Contleef

On a capsule we gather.

We gather 20 trillion humans.

In this capsule to the stars we gather
yondered
fields of dust and allergens,

books of bones and markets of skins.
We shall fit between
space and time here in this capsule.

Upstairs, above,
in the city plains of Earth,
they go to lunch buffets.

Cooking oil drips down to the tunnels
where this capsule runs
with the rest of humanity gathered.

Here, in this way,
all the Universe is filled in,
mercilessly unstopping.

So should we love the collective,
or should we love the lore?

Poems

It is a circle here.
Star Fawnus.
Two stars circling around
each other.
A solar system beyond them.
All that comes into the circle
is mineral and ghost,
and ghosts are everlasting.
Rocky hills.
Smells of brushy oak.
The burned tallgrasses.
Clouds sundancing
and night holding onto rain.

It is everlasting here,

where we have lost love.

Poems

The Poverty O Everyone

We stopped at the edge of town,
saw ourselves weeping,
eating our meal for the day
underneath dusty summer air
and the paint chips of oak tree shadows.
The ranch lifestyle we live
with value meals and escapism.
It’s all so much bigger out here
when we take to the road with car,
fellow conscripts of celebrities and story,
along this caravan of want and wanting.
I have participated,
traded the Native American-gold-U.S. dollar.

By the end of your french fries,
your hands covered in grease,
to the town, a sink, a bed,
before you rise and work the grocery aisles.
We’ll return to the burned fields of wheat,
sharing small talk and crooked jaw talk
about the government.

You ask me if I’ve seen,
I ask you if you’ve seen…
Something that’s passed us by
we watch on TV.

Poems

Song Of The Condom Merchant’s Son

My penis has holes in it.

When I piss
urine leaks from all the sides.

The tile floors of my mother’s house are stained.

I hide.

Father has a moustache.
He comes and gets me,

“Ilsador. Ilsador, where are you?
Ilsador, you have not sought the doctor’s council.”

Poems

Love In The Sky

I loved the moon last night
how I love you

Tracing curves
Trailing trails

It caused something deep in my heart
casting light
across
oak trees and prairies

something profound and proliferous
for glass creatures below

Its warm lit glow
reminding my neurons
the power in
I love you
and what belongs in a dominion
of breath

It moved tallgrass
sang wind-songs
Spread translucence
much greater than itself

It became love in the sky
there before
my pained, mortal eye

Its heavenly voyage made you be
the homestead of my earth

Yea though it created a moment in time
in space
an era of life verily unto thee

Poems

The Church Of Later Days

There is a mystic
that Jesus does not know.

His followers do not know —
they who make their wine,
they who bake their bread.

For their sacrifices taken from others,
their affluence removes them.

A riddle A Domini.

Poems

Lair Druidry

The trees can do
most anything you ask of them.
Go out into the woods,
find a grove, or find a lone tree.
Talk to them.
Speak your words out loud.

The trees communicate with each other.
There are approximately 3 trillion of them
on the planet.
They listen to everything.

You can request anything of trees,
but there is one limitation;

you cannot request anything evil.

And it’s not that you can request
something evil
but they will refuse to do it.
You can literally not even make the request.
Just by requesting something evil
you void their trust.
They will not act. They will not utter.

So ask yourself;
is this evil I plan on asking this tree?

If it is, it will be obvious to you.

This is but one way trees have
educated humans.
They have many contracts and spells
amongst the systems.

Poems

Go Back

I can’t go back
to her apartment drunk
at 3 o’clock in the morning,
watching her gorgeous blue eyes
watch me
and her ripe full lips talk to me
underneath her shroud of
cherry red hair.

She’s dead.

Washed out alone in her car
in a flash flood in Texas.

Texas is still the frontier.

On the frontier you die alone.
And the politicians of Texas
ensure it remains the frontier
so
people can die alone,
unaided, unsupported,
free from the tyranny of assistance.

Like the end days of marketization say,
sensitive to its place in the timeline of humanity —
do not come here.

Do not go to Texas.

The pristine, new, symbiotic cities exist afar.
Go there,
survive, adjust,
be the next version of humanity
and live.

The 254 eunuchs
serve first
the dying beast of an exploited land.

Every man for himself.

Increased capitalized wealth.

God,
keep us free from other people.

Until none of this matters at all.