Michael Martin

2012/06/22 § Leave a comment

On the themes of slut and the last word

Say Goodbye, not tonite

Sleazy. Her word not mine. Not hers either, maybe
her Nigerian father’s. Maybe I’ve seen too many Skullphones. There’s death everywhere. She almost died;;; Credit the anonymous tip. You could try living a little
lot less in the moment. First she thought I was Bi-
I just had commitment issues & used to drink & smoke
—now, it’s pretty much the same except I know when to stop. Or

When nothing in the plane fully functions, well…

I’d eat Kim Novak’s
chicken dinner,
big fucking deal.
I keep thinking about Joe Dimaggio and how I didn’t know the man.

He died in Hollywood, Florida
and there’re so many Hollywoods and Paris’
Africa has its own America.
Finland its Tokyo,
Mexico its Sydney. By any other name
a blowjob. I only buy cheap wine to drink out of some phantoms bellybutton
reciting Oliver de la Paz, Dear Empire
this hand is breaking itself
against your defense mechanisms.
I don’t know who ‘your’ is.
The surgeon general warns: The New Love
is saying what you mean
and not meaning it until you assure its authenticity.
I really am not sure
who this ‘you’ is.
Maybe your cake is from a gas station. ̇
What’s the expression…
damaged goods?

Author Biography

Michael Martin is a poet. Work has appeared in Drunken Boat, OH NO Magazine, Anti- and Swink. Michael lives in LA where he also publishes data and art through Brain Paper Press. (southroyalty.tumblr.com @gogogadgetpoet)

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