Poetry from Nova Martin – America's favorite transwoman feminist lesbian druidess poet
From the CIA’s poor planetary
management
we rise
From the movements in October
first drawn in window panes
we rise
within Detroit
From the codes of the Widow
then passed onto these ions
we rise
We wake we rise
in Calcutta
in Nebraska
in Santiago, then Ultima Thule
We rise from what is unformed
for the whispering star of night
James, I know not what I’ve done
Ten children are missing
in the place between
here
and
now.
They’re left for air and radiation,
our Father’s home is in the sky.
The housing development contains wood panel walls
and alarm clocks,
tables with plates of crackers sitting on top them
and spilled cups of juice.
The housing development expands
and receives
the edge of Space and the daybreak.
Between 500 square miles a cosmic living room
begins to open to the heavens, ballistic missile silos,
and the ionized atmosphere.
There are the children,
in uniforms and now giants in mirrored optical physics.
A character in a cartoon show yells,
“It’s an optical illusion, we’re headed to Dimension 15!”
The character is being shown to you on television
(or in the mirrored optical physics market).
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