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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Monday, August 07, 2006

What We Have in Common

it was the time of saxophones
fingering each honey pot
this wasn’t a beer game
everybody’s talking about
pants & round table struts
this was war & memory kids
tell us yearly sentences of
drama with traitors in our gloves
this was a ball room defection
& songs are broken volares
that skip at family places
no wonder elephants have scars
one last law to take to the jungle
just find the water

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Cipher of My Tap Water

with a crystal of my habit
this mineral display
a thousand yard stare
to surprise social activity
makes prehistoric thrashes
prophesies at this splash page
motionless as mohammed
but i carry mountains
heels dug into red earth
if in races be dragons
from blood silence unnerves
bullies into unwanted rings
think like prison writings
in the time of my abandonment

Monday Morning in Philadelphia

it’s an old midnight, now
this summer cold room here
this letter that started alone
to sit high altitudes with attention
the rest, taste of willow smoke
that only the first ghost takes
in rows of high school lockers
combinationless in theory
this means the end of american life
literally struts in full western apparel
this control is a new kind of drag
fits him like mother of the bride
when you are ready to get there
the key is under the mat