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?
Tag: marketing
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.
Hispanics love big celebrations.
They’re having babies more than anyone else on the market.
We do know that they send a lot of money home.
A lot of banks now are trying to get into that market
because there is so much money there.
Most Hispanics, Mexicans specifically,
really like a lot of colors,
they like to have a lot of color around them.
L.A. has by far the largest segment of the market.
Because it is my baby I feel very strongly about it,
I very much love this market.
It is my thing;
the Hispanic market.
* This is a found poem taken from a conversation I overheard a marketing director have with a coworker of mine once upon a time.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
It is after a great storm.
We were all washed away.
Even me.
“Me!” “Me!” “Me!”
Except digitally.
That is what’s left.
The oligarchs own.
The plebeians digitize.
“Me!” “Me!” “Me!”
The Influencers publish.
Go with me down to the store
in Barcelona
to get the whole seed mustard.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
For a long time
I suffered from Irritable Bowel Syndrome.
I lived in a house on the hill.
In that house I suffered the mistrust
to believe that I suffer.
I am a candidate for pills
and evenings with pretty ladies.
There is a creation and labeling of me somewhere,
thence I take off my head and screw it
into oil cans.
I jump around and talk about tackle box
and incense holder.
I live in the house on a hill.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
My blood stomps harder on the jade wine,
I go to work on assembly lines,
I sing the song “O Capitalism”,
to make it with your daughter
in fashionable penance.
I forged a ring from my blood slime,
stopped what I eat to get the thin shine.
My calcium was low, protein wasn’t right.
Can I dip into your machine,
Master God?
Possess what you can in your real lives.
Eat value meals, or eat dikes.
Cows in the field chew the utter ripe,
Los Estados Unidos essay kinda neato.
novamartinpoetry.com 