nathan martin Poems

synthetic textile ghost, a.k.a. brown burlap bag
hanging over a shovel in the garden.

along its side reads burmese long grain rice.
...

i lied when i was lying
and i walked where i was walking.

i lived when i was living
...

aqua dependent, thirsting for
the mechanical tin priest.

the lord is in the kettle when
...

Doctors say that we are seventy percent
water but i think that is bs.

those drawings you made when you were
...

I did not expect him to be
so stoic.

motionless....
...

In an old cellar mason jars
full of canned sunsets line
the shelves.
...

Will it pass this way again nobody knows because
the community library has to many paperbacks
and the clouds to many sins.
...

ordinary clouds on a thursday
afternoon overhead.

All is shaded and gray.
old testament in my skin.
...

No more buffalo or pigs who speak in latin
for they have all drowned in the sea of galilee
or perhaps been flushed down the Tijuana pipeline.
...

Lunatic tile underneath a formica god.

he cracks at the edges.
...