college – novamartinpoetry.com

Some Pass, Some Pass Away

Folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
People talked about the skin,
associated it with this friend
when its vision was requited in their memories.

Eventually, most fell out of touch
with the owner of Plate,
but never did they forget the blooming gore
of that Georgia O’Keeffe-like still life.
In fact,
many are reminded daily,
when they eat tortillas dipped in chili,
when chili is poured atop a hot dog,
when they go to sleep at the end of such days.

… “Folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
Who was that? Whose plate was that?”

Poems

Epsilon Heroic

He can punt like a motherfucker.
Jared can throw it far.
I got the size,
you got the power.

When is Marcus going to get his car?

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

Both Brains

They let him go
when he was young and dying of cancer,
drifting through outer-space
they let him go,
the last people’s race of people
didn’t own him,
floating past nationalism and liberty
as cancer an eternalness created
archetypes of the sufferer,
the fear of the shadow,
just the vessel of the genome,
we lift you up to the cluster,
the ridge of stars.
Child without childhood
reaches for your fingers,
the seven wrinkles,
your chance to perceive things

but it ran away with the forms and
words of humanness,
just the vessel of the genome,
information is transferable
in
this
standing in a field before a 7-11®,
a parent kisses their child at college
in Kansas.

They got to go to college,

wave, wave . . . waves

but wave to the abilities of Einstein,

those crackling transmissions of the
Pentecost,
those crackling wavebands of gray.

Jesus saves.
Computers save.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

Some Pass, Some Pass Away

Folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
People talked about the skin,
associated it with this friend
when its vision was requited in their memories.

Eventually, most fell out of touch
with the owner of Plate,
but never did they forget the
blooming gore
of that Georgia O’Keeffe-like
still life.
In fact,
many are reminded daily,
when they eat tortillas dipped in chili,
when chili is poured atop a hot dog,
when they fall asleep in church.

. . . “folds of skin
sat on a plate in a friend’s kitchen.
Who was that, who’s plate was that?”

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Poems

Both Brains

They let him go
when he was particle-composed and had died of
cancer,
drifting through outer space
they let him go,
the people’s race of peoples didn’t own him,
floating past nationalism and liberty
as cancer an infinity emulsified
the mortal equation,
the surmountable forms of gray ways,
child without childhood
you picked at these fingers,
the seven wrinkles, your chance to perceive things
but accelerating away,
faster than cycles of sun or moon,
with the forms and “words” of humanness,