Simulacra 889

My words do not skip, whoop, or wheel across the page

There is nothing like it when things get rolling

My father sitting in the kitchen

With a bottle of whiskey

Bare-chested and drunk

And exquisite look upon his face

An intense satisfaction that was experienced more than understood

Life was exploding around me

Blasting away at the hypocrisy

What I have accomplished in this world is meaningless

The search for a meaningful life is the utmost in futility

We only fool ourselves into believing in fairytales

This is the eastside mother fucker

Nothing here will take you back home

This is not a story of hope

We are familiar with great foolishness

Those who cannot embrace the negativity of truth

The light is found hiding in the darkness

People will find it hard to grasp the evil of the soul

The soul surpassed the mind

The soul dominated the mind and placed the mind into slavery

Thoughts become controlled by the soul

With lack of use, the mind grew weaker

she could understand everything

even when I began in the middle of a sentence

telling how things happen

three bottles of mad dog

and I’m singing merry christmas

climbing up water towers

buying 200 hits of microdot

it was then that I realized that there was nothing to fear

slipping something hot into the moon

tipping the scales

taking the blidfold off of justice

feeling her up under her robe

the two hemispheres of her brain

seeking the end with a full gaze

you have been contaminated by the luxury of five dollar ideas

another incarnation of the bottomless pit

wanting to restore all of your appetites

hundreds of corpreal miles

making love to the mother and the daughter

modulations of a freakish nature

I am squeezed out into measure

there is tension and inflation

a line of women waiting for us to finish

they both had nipple rings and a pierced belly button

in the summer they were blonde

and in the winter brunette

I am proposing the end of the soul

Religion has oppressed the history of reason

There is no reason to think when all of the answers are provided

Thus, the mind mutated into this non-thinking entity

Religion created the birth of the weakling

Each of us has one foot planted in the essential

I revive and restore

We no longer have to look backward

Our gaze should be firmly established on the future

Removing the effect of religious determinism

The absence of a horrid determination

Removing the means of the repressive productions

You were freed to be truly yourself

Not some fabricated caricature of your true self

I made you free to live according to your own wishes

Not the dictates of some manmade deity or deities

There is no utopia in heaven or on the earth



Martin’s work is solidly based on the concept of poetry as a social construction. Through our interactions with others, we create and recreate meanings that allow us to make sense out of a chaotic world full of contradictions. Martin considers the art of writing poetry as one small way of collapsing the confusion of experience into more meaningful patterns of social thought. You can find more of Martin’s thoughts at:

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