Tyler Martin


Tyler Martin Poems

1. Drool 4 U 5/13/2015
2. What Day Is It? 5/13/2015
3. Patrick Henry 5/13/2015
4. A Splendid Brand Of Man 5/13/2015
5. Domestic Airport Ballerina 5/13/2015
6. Standard Candle 5/13/2015
7. Beast Code 5/13/2015
8. Kulak In A Gulag 5/13/2015
9. Side By Side 5/13/2015
10. Death Delayed 5/13/2015
11. Football Night In Africa 5/13/2015
12. Spider's Bark 5/13/2015
13. Regression: A Journey Of Misunderstanding 5/13/2015
14. Pubic Allegory 5/13/2015
15. Last Resort 5/13/2015
16. Facsimiles 5/13/2015
17. The Chamber Of Values 5/13/2015
18. The Last Day Before The First Day Of The Rest Of Your Life 5/13/2015
19. Hipster Holocaust 5/13/2015
20. Modern Love 5/13/2015
21. Pulchritude (Smoke You) 5/13/2015
22. Middle Eastern Anastrophe 5/13/2015
23. Utility 5/13/2015
24. Heart Complete, Two Tears United 5/13/2015
25. Compline: The Sequel 5/13/2015
26. Meaningful Moisture 5/13/2015
27. Sunday Monroe 5/13/2015
28. I Feel Them Dying 5/13/2015
29. Monolithic Scarecrow 5/13/2015
30. The Jolly Coroner 5/13/2015
31. Department Of Depravity 5/13/2015
32. Minutes Of The Meeting 5/13/2015
33. Get It Off Get It Off Now 5/13/2015
34. Weird, The New Normal 5/13/2015
35. Tantric Blowback 5/13/2015
36. Nutjob Gf 5/13/2015
37. Snippy The Turtle 5/13/2015
38. The Myth Of Cognitive Dissonance 5/13/2015
39. Burnout Beach 5/13/2015
40. Could Into Can 5/13/2015

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Best Poem of Tyler Martin

What Day Is It?

That would be today, but according to the vaginal data this would be might,
and finally the adjustment is boned. A looming silence fingers the air,
until a shattering clack of vertical blinds alerts him to what's in there.

The distance is subdermal, for gravy’s got the hematoma. Here
comes the part where source transmission blunders through the line,
for finally does it feel like it might be fine without it, a lock,
sitting sillier still inside the hole of the key of life.

Transmission: bodies, corded like moldering wood in a sleet storm,
steaming still ...

Read the full of What Day Is It?

Drool 4 U

I had two strawberries, then one, now none:
One had hairy boobs and the other’s a China doll
With blood-encrusted fingers after sister took up scissors
And, in a rage, went after her with jealous rigor.

These women were in love with what I represent,
For I am a two-by-four to the back of the head.
The flies lay eggs in the corner and their little ones
Wriggle across the floor when I chase them.

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