Poetry from Nova Martin – America's favorite transwoman feminist lesbian druidess poet
Learned how to be a “valuable” worker
in a free-market economy.
Also learned to be a “team player”.
Did not learn to reject
the free-market economy
because that upsets
everyone else
still stuck
in the sham show shit scam mess.
This has a 99.9% chance
of being your postscript.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Capitalism is addiction.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes, it is.
This is called the Massey Loader.
You put parts of chicken in it
and from emulsion and other processes
you get an output of
layers of chicken, cheddar cheese, and
bacon.
It was created by Harold Berwin in
Milton, Ohio
for the Handy Corps Food Corps
Company.
It’s used to make MacDonald’s
and Burger King products.
So, it receives fair praise
for efficiency by
highly distinguished executives.
Executives know a thing or two.
They have a high influence quotient
and buyer’s formula.
The Massey Loader’s also used to make
cat food and dog food.
It helps feed both humans and animals.
It’s humanitarian in its nature.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I have seen her breasts
pressed in between
blouses and heaven,
viewed her wedding ring
turn magazine pages
in the reflection of the
window,
going south on her
morning train
away from her husband,
suburban home, and
children,
into the city for gray rooms,
stale breath, business reports,
and the remnant of
what was human,
going south on her
morning train.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Semen and scorpions.
We gotta do this.
Resurrect the old ages
and improve them
before the scriptures existed.
Correct the old follies
of leaders,
of men always,
this is the case,
what a shit show is the
biological being with
ballz dangling between
his legs,
so vulnerable.
We’ve got to correct him,
the weaker sex
leading everyone astray.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I found myself looking for people
when
the world had locked them away
and privatized them.
Put them in beige boxes to do
their work everyday from
eight a.m. to five o’clock p.m.
Placed them in orderly housing,
turned on the TV for them to
stare into and
handed them bills and mortgages
to adhere to.
Driving their Ford trucks and Chevy’s.
I looked in the forests,
over grasslands,
under real skies, clean air,
with the ancestral stars at night.
I looked and no one was there,
learning the anthem of the cosmos,
the form
of the human
that is being,
the kind of consciousness suspended
in time.
No,
I looked and they were watching TV.
When I’m a white person
I go on vacation
where I pet horses.
These are the horses the locals use
to plow their crops.
I think they’re beautiful and special.
Both, the locals and their horses.
For a moment,
I remember the color of the beige walls
back in our living room
and how we need to update
the light fixtures.
“His family was wealthy.”
What this means is often that
his father had a penchant
for putting objects up his ass,
not “his” ass, but his father’s
own ass.
I’m not sure why, but about
80% of wealthy patriarchs
have a thing for putting
things up their ass.
Maybe it is another way for them
to consume more and more,
as much as possible of the world.
Their appetite is voracious and
most of us want to be like them,
the wealthy patriarch, putting
things up our ass.
It’s true, we do.
Most of them have diamond or
at least cubic zirconia encrusted
butt plugs.
But us, most of us, we don’t.
When I face the toothbrush
I am scared.
Scared that I might feel uncomfortable
and choke on my tongue,
like the time when I was 22 years old
and drove down the highway alone
and choked on my tongue
in the middle of an anxiety attack
and had to grab hold of my tongue
with my hand so I wouldn’t swallow it.
Scared that this might all happen again,
that I might freak out in the middle of a meeting
and run out of the room crying.
These are the things that grown men do.
These are not the things that grown men do.
New Age religions
and business success books
teach me to never consider myself
with flaws or weaknesses,
to only accept my greatness,
never my vulnerabilities,
and never to admit to these.
Never give another person power,
control the power,
control situations,
control others.
Create your reality.
Be a white man.
I will go on vacation
to Playa del Carmen in May.
The skies will be warm and perfectly blue.
The scents of blooming flowers
and freshly made tortillas
come in through the windows.
The world will be what I want it to be.
Suffering doesn’t exist.
Who suffers?
Stop crying.
Get up and get out of here.
A father is a hero
much greater than the sum of all
contrived phrases
and father is greater than the
touching things
we make and let go of
making up air or moments
made up revelry
a father ain’t a tree
but a piece of rock
that it takes a preacher to pick up
and call it sacred
without the acts of procranation
by language
a father remains fragile
as he is inside himself,
inside his head
without the hips of a woman a father
remains nothing
or null
flames of acetone, moss on a mountain
we thus make heroism as it is needed
and speak mythically of his actions.
Every father is a hero
(in the context before Time is realized).
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