nathan martin Poems

square blocked infastructers formed from a medling mind.
enginered and fused together with stricky grape popsicle fingers.
the lego babylon rises with its hanging gardens
strewn along the carpet floor.
...

midwest housewives decorated in flowering
curtain shades move from one corner to
the next singing in thier pine boxes.
...

hydrogen speckeled pair of eyeglasses,
watching from a distance.

high.. high above the weather vain.
...

this city behind my eyes has
a population of one.

windless sidwalks swept clean,
...

self literate knowledge illuminated
under the quiet hum of ballis lights.

librarians looks full of books.
...

like a hot iron upon the palm
i bullmark blackened charcoal
to paper, searing each line as i write.
...

jesus and elvis in a halo
of black and green light.
a pink madonna next to betty crocker
and ronald reagan standing
...

a grandfather clock in the corner of the
room turns its grayhead and sounds.

it is the hour of salt... it is the hour of aged reason.
...

in the back of the bus they sit akwardly across from each
other. the smell of pabst and pall mall cigerettes magnetically repells against strawberry revlon lipgloss and hairspary. he is trying not to hear her headphones blaring fergy and she is trying not to notice the stains on his shirt.
he is thinking of neon exit signs and fishnet stockings on roominghouse madrigals who walk gently in the street under the red lights like cranes on a concrete pond.
...

morton salt girl crying in the rain
frailly under her umbrella,
with dry salt for tears.
...