Poetry from Nova Martin – America's favorite transwoman feminist lesbian druidess poet
It is through buoyant sexual azure
that I’ve changed the world,
known it, navigated it,
been changed by it.
Vibrant berry azure
on the edge of my dark brown eyes,
lustful in all those moments
when someone speaks to me,
them to me,
me to them,
feeling and knowing
this ripe berry energy.
Azure Dionysian,
as your days turn into
something closer to heaven,
lead all those to their sexuality of spirit,
their freedom.
Have you ever noticed
if you watch testicles closely,
they move like anything
on the tops of waves
in high seas,
like the chests of living persons
breathing in and out?
Doctors in ancient India called this
the unfolding of each man’s universe.
To have my face
between your legs
is to give back to the world
all that has gone wrong with it.
It is to make a self-disolving offering
to the spirit of the feminine
that has been kidnapped, taken away,
and not allowed to prosper and bloom
upon this sorely misled planet.
It is to sit there in a body of masculinity
on my knees
at the base of all that is right and good
with civilization,
to repent and make the prayer in flesh for a new era,
to say how much I utterly love you
and the way that your body tastes down there,
to ask for a better way of living,
to taste the essence of this promise.
In the town of Meldwaen
the agenda drifts out to sea.
It is raining this afternoon,
I pull my semened penis from my blanket.
The houses are made of stone and sand.
You can smell it from the windows burning,
garlic, and oil, and flowers.
The agenda sits on a shelf
by a kitchen-fire burning,
flames are laughter and humanity.
One male rolls the flour of rice bread.
Two females look at each other.
One has wrinkles from the sides of her eyes.
The houses are made of sand and stone.
No one is a servant. All of these are lovers.
Only the male goes to stare upon the sea
alone
when the evening stars are rising
and breathes.
His bones are made of sand and stone.
The purity of your body
conforms to so many advertised standards
of women.
Well, white women, crystalline,
Anglified, Germanic women.
It makes my dick work…
…in the way that adults need their dick to work,
at least when they’ve got to that age
when their dick sometimes has issues working.
I mean, adult men.
I’m not sure about the dicks of women.
Don’t discount they certainly have one,
in some way,
I just don’t know anything about how
those things might work.
I wish I did.
I wish what I’ve written here
about women having dicks
wasn’t considered blasphemy by four, to five
of the world’s major mainstream religions.
But I believe it is.
This is one way that I’m a believer.
I believe these religions
present frameworks to people
for how they should or shouldn’t think.
And so you can’t believe that women have dicks.
Shooting my semen into
a five day old cup of tea,
I will do this if I like.
Sitting on my desk,
it blends together
and begins to mold.
I live as the ancient Chinese did.
Pouring this cup into the toilet
and flushing it down the drain
while no one is looking,
I will do this if I like.
An act of autonomy on my part
before
the jealous gods.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
You get to have 2 days off?
You guys are going to plug away at each other’s
buttholes
for 2 days straight.
Malachi answers
“Yes.”
“I’m going to try to keep my penis inside his ass
for the entire 48 hour period
until
I
have
to
go
back
to
work.”
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Alien heads,
oh alien heads
laid in bed
looking at a planet
they’ve
come from
so very far away
I laid with
a woman with
an alien head,
the shape of a
suburban housewife’s bob,
the genetic memories
where she came from,
across our
luscious cells.
We stare at the window
blinds
where there is some form
of day
and leftover red
radiated Martian air
that’s out there.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
It is the night of the Prix-et South.
Women all over the city
get together and have sex
in groups of five.
The fifth woman being linear with Saturn,
her legs spread
with the left knee pointing to Pentheus
and the right one pointing to Intortium.
Here
is placed the crown of the tongue
and
lifts them all into liberation.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
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