If I go down into the town,
where the Wal-Mart and Taco Bell await,
let me buy
what others have bought.
I want to have what others have.
Let me follow.
Be a follower.
Be an American.
A Republican or Democrat.
Be a man, always look like one.
Drive a truck.
But if they talk,
if they come to talk to me,
I am me, I have my shotgun,
get out of my way, leave me be.
I am tough.
But, what are they up to?
The collection of cells, organs,
and the latest trends from the internet.
Fight for your life,
fight for your family.
Leave me alone.
Tag: war
I awake day after day
with the Pentecostal damage
Slowly rehydrating my blood
each morning
the world grows
the past keeps pulling
The arguments of forefathers
alive in my muscles
Ignorance dwells in me
in the house of the human
Though I proceed forward
vaporizing my spirit in the
desert of the later morning
light
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I go out into the world.
It’s dark.
Only insects, lamplight, and night.
You’re not there.
Evil is though.
Lots of evil is out there,
all around in the night.
The trees gather closely
over the sidewalk.
These trees know how to live
with good and evil.
Humanity does not.
So I am scared.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
Saturn came to destroy
M-16 deliverance
a wall falls
on a family of peasants in China
the free world elects a president
a tyrant takes his post in the leftover lands
of Persia
technology beats bayonets
a tank crushes cans of food
somewhere at latitudes north of northwest
Saturn is crushing the spark of
new gravity
Saturn is man’s holy alliance,
his walled cathedrals and the
tapestries of mosques
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
The Coach said not to.
He said simply,
“When it comes up over the hill,
just don’t do it guys,
don’t do it.”
Now you’re wondering where the Camaro is.
Why did it go away?
Why has it not come back around the corner?
But the sun knew the desert well.
The damn desert goes on and on,
and well,
the desert knows the sun.
These are not really consolations for you.
I’m sorry.
The Coach entered the bathroom
and there were tiles,
they were turquoise and plaster tiles,
and he said clearly,
“get me out of here”.
Then
we watched them throw tiles at Coach’s
lifeless body.
The sunrise was beautiful as we wept
and raised our crusty eyes with spatial baptisms.
We wondered why they would do that to our Coach.
We’d been through so much with that guy,
even the Petroleum Wars
where he kept it tuned to AM 1280
and we hid underground.
Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
I’d like to invite you to war.
“War is hell,” my grandfather said.
Things are going to be on sale.
After the war
there will be volume buying power.
There will be everything.
We fight these wars for freedom.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
We took drugs,
we charged on the military.
The military filed reports
saying
“you can’t charge on the military.”
The President filed reports
stating
there was a new war against the military.
CNN covered stories exonerating
War Machines.
It was opened a
Henry Kissinger School for Diplomacy.
It was a four for one sale, Margaret.
We loosened our diapers and
played with our doo-doo.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
When the twilight was falling
American soldiers took their babies.
. . . for babies must be taken . . .
Whose babies?
Where babies?
Babies gooby goo-goo?
Do people still need babies?
When the war against the Arabs started
Americans hid their babies.
This baby.
My baby.
Cannot babies live subterranean?
They are very tiny diggers.
Teensy tiny, dig, dig.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
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).
Not am I certain
of the United States Marine Corps.
Not have they won every battle.
Not is the look in their eyes
a violence bred of poverty.
Their alumni wear the moustaches,
their moustaches orderly like freedom.
Their moustaches, the stinkpots of freedom,
they are strong and smell of dank.
Order the conflicts for protection.
That our wars should never end.
People come home fucked up from them.
Many people never come home.
– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin
from:
Antipoémus (poetry book)
novamartinpoetry.com 