New Poems by Richard Martin, our man in Boston |
by Richard Martin |
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Free Immanuel Kant! says Richard Martin of 40 Searle Road, Boston, MA 02132
Happy Containers of You
I’m out of archetypes and crayons and feel lousy for names It’s time to wait Words for moon and the absence of one in a solar sky have been detained or lost in a field of fragile mistakes This is what orange has done to me – why mechanisms of yesterday plummet through wispy smoke Porous mind wants in and glides above an aftermath of symbols Struggle predicted – the honed bridge of desire resistant to foot traffic Sky ascends into still more sky Looking at what is (post-molecular floor plans) in the presence of a silent alphabet Nerves of beauty and abandonment post notes for all to see Crack codes for joy Say no when vacating premises
Free Immanuel Kant
Objects defy perception Over the right shoulder the politics of privilege maintains the notion of privilege – limited government enough global gas to clog an avalanche Bus exhaust and green energy refuse to mate in front of polarized cameras Words are political Spacetime is an intuition of the mind Get over it The “I” of tomorrow assumes the position SOS say or a bottle afloat in a cosmic sea It will get there – at least close enough to proclaim Alien Universe That’s right Alienation is still the theme The parade of existentialists marching in avant-garde commercials for T-Mobil has texted despair Release the prisoner or HELP I need somebody Thanks to the Beatles You decide
Life Behind
We were lovers before the arrow of time imploded in a cracked egg of defiance Magic played heartache I wanted to make sense after the certitude of Descartes Twitter was an imaginary game between kings and subjects – Sports Radio a concept in the distant womb of media The demand to stay present accelerated into Go Daddy and bit players in the House of the Rising Sun Someone had to make sense after the Public Option of Surrealism Language went hysterical in the town hall meetings of tomorrow What was left alternated between the red-shift of stars and the blue-shift among them The universe re-bubbled into bubbly Authenticity framed compassion into a platform for the people I left home in a backpack of rivers Tenacity cooled fingertips
Distracted Semiotics
Things are being proposed in the caverns of interpretation People have tired of disasters The colossal bank of signs is too big to collapse If the planet is an undivided stone of metaphor and pale dreams then we should understand polis as the absence of place when the universe initiates a borderless war among words while we talk to each other on the cell about talking to each other on the cell We’re dropped souls of disconnection The maze of missed opportunities to comprehend what’s happening trumps epistemology Tentacles of media probe bedrooms – the way we admire naked mirrors or the warmth of body I am the referent in the street waving to you as delivery trucks with genetically altered vegetables make their way to market
Between Innings
We’re waiting to be initiated into the wonderful Beauty sings the body automatic when it struts through doors of prescriptive prophecies The history of the mind incorporates line breaks and subliminal messages disguised as exotic dancers to the set the stage for revelation Left on a saucer of moon metaphor challenges humor to a duality The streets are cleared while drug rehabilitation centers for moody stars morph into demolition derbies Conspiratorial nods and winks intrigue an audience sucking meaning through anorexic straws Knowledge topples into the unknown Love contracts and expands Heads up Dead authors have returned to watch the ball game in spiritual gear
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