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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Saturday, March 31, 2007

Is This Tomorrow?

what nonrenewable internationale
regulates halfway to my side
deep magical fiction of the red scare
immigrates dream hispanic brother
even if it is my own blood
there is time to make last call
nearly napping pope adolf
orders all the air for our nations
this was the history of pure lands
with thoughts that freak amsterdam
to a symphony of false assumptions
this conductress of wiccan electronica
o, anthem of garden state drivers
moved to speech, moved to prayer

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

They Said This Was Spirits Bowling

all night encompassed by down
in sage burned hole escapes
my vernal equinox presently shopping
taught in a middle house cleaning
where spring is like a perhaps, steakhouse
& four saints from alzhiemers play
not even a true count of continents
or account for the presence of stars
to flaunt our public education at work
my father said this would be fire
they said this was spirits bowling
caused a serious error do you still want
to play when misdeeds are storytellers of
names that are given & names that are taken

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Here, My Last Waits at the Ready

for the living it is lefthanded
all the epithets in newsprint
this last ditch communion
that is viennese abbies
events on summer vacation
so our road trip was meant
no more than intermissions
where we shot ourselves in the foot
this was the romance of my parents
that captures unfaithful hostages
to make the bloody sacrament
what it is today: bodies politic
brother with exuberant receptionists
in heaven, tales of repression

Monday, March 19, 2007

Penny for the Guy

misspelled folio offerings
between god & telemundo
could lose translation
this new employment guide
for secular city pedestrians
even comes with a game face
lies in preadolescent survival
if we fight with enkidu
then the lover is easy
my prestige is a wicker man
on a wish fulfillment leap
what we say in middle states
is concussed and in hermitage
in order to perform the monk

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Part of an Act of Making

poam for Thylias Moss

play my broken digital age
what’s left of these maidens
that chews at the rabbit cage
any scream’s really a song
in the key of good sons
dislodging their collapsible
intentions here in the midwest
if my video goggles work
like this is our first ritual
in an era of lost children
to find them play vibraphones
that derive from urban covens
this knowledge of laundry
that let’s every martian land

Monday, March 12, 2007

Prophet, Like This

this was called looks within time
in front of a cult of personality
no more to lend myself to them
in these recurring gender roles
for medieval german youth
moreover a term of earth
come of age in place & setting
this was the penultimate lesson
if godliness could be occupation
seven citations for murphy’s law
later these were false witness
of differences between need & want
we rise only to save the daylight
more geese than swans now live

Monday, March 05, 2007

Native Speaker

if we temperate rain lodges
daily to each impersonal acts
and bitch about accessibility
this is not an open event
time to the sundial observers
is measured in drifts of luck
shells strung to proscribed
to be the lady or the tiger
run to our buttery conclusion
given circumstance of sticker shock
at revelation of a bedside passports
here are confessors for the latinist
of birthday gifts struck in flesh
that our parents never need to know