M.G. MARTIN


QUARTER LIFE CRISIS

at night i hurl
birds at the sun

the starlight features a sick cream
a rare thickness of light

it is sentimental to be a tree
in the universe

all the poems
in the universe
are the universe

keeping a star
in a plastic bag
is a dead fashion

i’ve never been one for
boiling mercy

the employment of the tongue
is flat and tender

i am lowering my electricity
i am quieting my circulation
i am letting starlight climb
into my pupils

by the end
of blood flow
i’m left without the right
to right what’s left
of my backwards heart

a candle without wick
is the only day i want

but i am disabled by
the slow violence of dawn

& occupied by the steady
dictatorship of twilight
 
 
 
 
WE MADE A KIND OF LOVE CALLED TIME TRAVEL

we met in the middle of a wealthy disaster.
we were playing tender buttons.
we were rotating the crime, we were parking
the bullet & expanding with our mouths.

we only touched in the diagonal.
we made a kind of love called time travel.
or maybe it was called life in nudity
with the possibility of you.

we upgraded the future by committing crimes
against divorce. we sexed the flowers tense
coagulated the butter, we holy thieves.
we sunk in. we were behind the telephone
waiting. we committed crimes in the elevator
using only our tongues. we made backbones
anything but mundane. we found it
everywhere. we inverted ourselves
with the water running beneath the strange sink.
 
 
 
 



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