Fix.

I don't want to be your sex,
your glamor, your beauty.
I don't want to be your
killer thighs or
pouting lips,
your pert round breasts
or thinner hips.
I don't want to be your sex.

I don't want to be your longer lashes,
your knock out body-
your perfect ten,
keep it for yourself.

He told me that women don't
shower- don't
shave- don't
primp- don't
appeal
for the purpose of
avoiding interaction.

I tell him
get it straight
-that I don't do these things
for sole attraction.

I shave my legs,
sometimes-usually-when I feel it.
It has nothing to do with you.

My legs find themselves hairless
when I desire
silken smooth sensations
between my sheets
and my skin.

I shower,
most days-weeks-days,
so I can smell myself fresh,
cleansed, natural.

To feel the steamed sensations
of broken hot-rock falls
cascading down my
head-to-toe,
caressing my every freckle.

I primp,
always.

Check myself,
mascara, liner, lotion, gloss.
Fix my hair and paint my nails;
brush, rinse, floss.
And believe me,
this has nothing to do with you.

I appeal
for the selfish exhilaration
the rush of desire.
I feel waves of attention
whether attraction is genuine
or a happy fantasy of my ego-
My fix is delivered either way.

In all truth, if I know I am appealing,
pealing layers out to sun,
that is all that matters.

I don't have to interact
with anyone.
I look hot for me.

So face it.
I don't want to be your bombshell.
I don't want to be your sex.

I just want to live
amongst Mimosa flowers
and color laden skies.
To snuggle silken kittens and
play on soft bare skin.
Dance along heaven-lit clouds and
ride my bike to school.

Stop trying to fix me
I am not your fix.

082607

You are one of those aren't you?

Eyes rolling deep into your skill.
Hands shaking wet with anticipation.
Tongue split snakelike,
beckoning the curious victim.
Ora, a milky darkness,
too thick to make out your manipulations.

You are one of those aren't you?

Filed teeth gnashing,
hiding spit frothing greed lust.
Back curling, flinching, recoiled
from the truth that sunlight brings.
My stomach churns; curdled memories
just to pass by our history.
For I was the fool-driven child
you dug your claws into.

You are one of those aren't you?

My skin still healing and here you are
to peel off scabs from my flesh.
And as the blood begins to appear, dripping,
sliding down my spine.
The memories rising, boiling
up my throat and threaten
to purge all over my feet.

You are one of those aren't you?

And I can see your spiteful grin
beneath those shaded eyes,
for you know that your simple presence
reminds in me
that I had once joined the beasts.

And was one of those, too.

082407

Grease fire.
So probably a shower.
Sitting on the roof.
Eyes darting;
line for line,
side to side.
I don't want to see him.

Garble music.
And how do you never
confuse that for knocking?

It's good to see you smile.
You have no idea how hard it is
for me not to take care of you.

They are not Skinwalkers.
And I should never even write that.
A constant state of deja vu.

Eyes cast off in distant thought.
Just happen to cross your gaze.
I don't want to hit your cat.

She had two uteruses.

One night stand. No-
it wasn't like that.
You tell me; "Surely,
they all think we slept together."
On a technicality, I guess we did.
Apart together.
Together apart.
You in your blanket,
me in mine. Or
they just dont think at all.

She is going to make it.
He won't hold her back for long.
The plate just broke in your hands?

Sage green.
Conventions.
Intentions.
I've been having an inkling.
But now,
I'm just going to call him instead.

082407

Everything tastes of nicotine.
Milky tar settles to veil
all of your flavors,
staling your juices and
filling my mouth with smoke.
Intoxicate everything I touch.
I try once more, but still,
your taste is nicotine.
Chocolate cherry nicotine.

The utter amazement of bedhead.

Cape Cod: A Complaint

On the edge of land
shaped like a curled, inviting

finger, I watch snails
make love without anxiety

or release. I do not
approve. The sea slumps

into me with a short
crest and a long, soft

crash. It sounds like etcetera.
It might be a promise

spoken in a language
only water knows, or

not. The only answer to that question
is that question. If only I could be

farther out on the bright Atlantic
near whales full of blubber and joile

de vivre, to flop and sing
in the recondite ocean, to be

a presence that strains it
through harp-like teeth and tastes

sugar in the salt.


- Patrick Martin

082407

I think I would like this house
if there were fifty people living here
as is suggested by the bicycles
and the toothbrushes.

What do you think?
No means no,
Yes means no,
Silence means yes.
Good.

When did we finally sleep?
And thank you for the eggs,
and thank you for the crickets,
and thank you for allowing me
to persuade you
to sleep right here.

I don't sleep well
in strange houses
alone.
Especially,
after the storyline
of the terrifying,
explainable,
unavoidable reality
of shape shifting visions.

And why do I always feel
like the thing I do or
the thing I say around you
is something I have experienced before?

I wish I would sleep more
but failure in breathing
prevents such delusions.

This house smells like my father.
Chirping, smoking, spinning, sweating,
drinking, laughing, hurting, cooking, Father.

the party mode chatter.

I blame you because I needed this
I blame myself for expecting this
I blame the deep inhalation of secrets and lies
the damp grass of asian pears and
the street lamps that block dreams from sight.
I blame the sore ebb of dissapointing bruises
and the griping hiss of the earwig
hiding small inside my fleshen lobes
awaiting pure enlightenment.
You can never have enough of deliciousness.

080807

Taste buds tingle;
preaching, reaching
yearning, burning
senses churning
long to taste you
face to face you
slip my lip inside you
hide beside you
beg to run- my tongue
sweeping weeping
slip, flip pry you
need to try you
tongue dart
teeth part
get inside you
Magnetic, fenetic
Explore, implore
your every pore
needing, pleading,
more, more, more, more!
Squeeze to please you
taunting, tease you
pallate stroke
a wet caress
lusting, busting
need address
want and taunt you
supple haunt you
satisfy you
friction fry you
slip slide fire
sweet desire
deep entreat
my parted mouth
neck to breast to further south
meet, treat, eat me
you complete me
breezing, teasing
moaning greet me.
White heat searing
bright thighs leering
apt tongue parching
curve spine arching
body shiver
full lip quiver
thrusting, lusting
climax busting

Taste buds tingle;
preaching, reaching.

080807

What is it that you speak of me-
when I am far and gone?
Long and lone, a mild speck
quite distanced from your tongue?
What is it that you speak of me
when I am out of reach?
Lost among the broken waves
preventing accidental breach?
What foul ferments leave your lips
when you are sure
you are secure
and not a work that you might speak
would ever reach my ear?

Fire and Wine

Kendra: “What do you think of playdough?”
John: “It's the opposite of a penis,
if you leave it alone, it gets hard!”

080807

Loving lovers
loving lovely love
lovely laden faden
ferment morning
Morn a morning
Morn a morn to morning

Haiku

This is a Haiku
that I do not want to write
Summer, Winter, Spring

bullshit Haiku poem
save your nature speak away
sex and sweet sweat vowels

cast away melon
nibble, nibble juicy bite
sweet desire gone

skin ink mystery
runes in secret hidden ways
scribe across the flesh

080807

Purrrrr pretty kitty purrrrr
petting wetting purrrrrr.
Invite the sight
to stretch, to bite-
To lick the sick thick
shiver, quiver purrrrrr.
Seduce you, induce you
come hither, whither purrrrr.
Purrrrr kissful blissful purrrrrr.
Stretched back black back
skin stretched, thin sinful grinful
bringing sex, slick sex
bodies arching convex
purrrrrrrrrr.

Ode to John Gratton

Fuck you John Gratton,
You who they named their battery for-
Fuck you.

Fuck you John Gratton,
You who they named a $48,000 weapon site after
You who lost your life to Indians in 1854,
I hope that they destroyed you.

Fuck you John Gratton,
Second Lieutenant John Lawerence Gratton
who fought the Suoix of Nevada
I bet you called them savages didn't you?
And never stopped to think
that maybe they were the human ones.
Fuck you.

Fuck you John Gratton,
You who is honored by this lifeless mass of concrete,
you who they named it for in June a hundred years ago
I want to smash it all to rubble
and when I'm through;
I'll stand amongst the stones of ruin,
and drenched in sweat scream
FUCK YOU!

I'll scream it so you can hear me John Gratton
FUCK YOU!

And so your shame plagued descendants can
FUCK YOU!

But most of all- John Gratton-
You bastard Second Lieutenant- John Gratton-
I'll scream it so the Suoix of Nevada,
the people who shot you down on August 19, 1854,
the people who's land you raped,
who's lives you stole,
who's hearts you broke can hear me-

FUCK YOU JOHN GRATTON!

080707

Let go, let go, just let it go.

It makes no difference to them
whether my eyes are boring
hot searing into their spines
casting hateful, harmful spells
Harry Potter style.

Toes clench, not curl, but clench,
it looks so the same
but feels so different.
Curled toes curl
a happy curl
they crunch and furl
from love;

from joy so intense it
escapes to expose
through the toes
in the shoes
in the sand.

No not curls that
curl each time you kiss
my lips
or hips
or tiny ears.

No not curling curly toes
that embody playful children
and dancing fearies
and dew drop butter slugs-spider webs
sunlit and morning dancing.

No these toes are not the embodiment of utter joy,
the kind of bliss that only love can teach to toes.

These are angry toes, spiteful toes.
You have embarrassed these toes,
humiliated these toes
you dirty wench.

My toes find you
selfish
careless
tactless and
bitter.

My toes want to
spit in your coffee and
trip your trip tripping feet
slipping off their high stallion post
to knock the chip chop block
from your bitter little shoulders.

No these toes do not curl.
They clench.

As pure and true as does the love curl curl,
the truth, the honest rage
of the dark, dank furl.

And these toes clench to unleash
what I won't do,
won't say.
Won't let the toes
expose
the boil of my damaged ego-blood-
you bitch
you no good dick
you made me feel this way.


You feel not a hint of shame
for the way you made my toes clench
and
how many other toes are clenching
deep inside their converse?

To hold their feet,
legs,
torso,
shoulders,
neck,
chin,
mouth,
eyes
back from exploding

to unleash the
bitter baking anger
flying arrows
darts of revenge
into your hair.


Clench, toes, clench
you go ahead and clench
and no one can ever
stop your clenching
clenchy
clench.

Anger clench, flinch
knuckles buckle
green nails flashing
trash-talking you
just below my
brick wall stare.


For I will never speak a word,
I'll stare you
ice-cave eyed
'til your soul feels
a mystery chill you
just cannot explain.

No, I won't say a word I'll sit and
polite will mind my mouth.
I was raised to hold
my
tongue,
Yes Ma'am,
Yes Sir,
I am child
I will respect.

Yes I respect you wenchful beast.
I respect you so deep I sit
and hold my curses.

And anger boils deep within
not from your person,
selfish words
but from the utter
disrespect
we caught you toss my way
and
splatter dank across my
unsuspecting
clean early face.

And through that disrespect
my shock
sent shockwaves
down my veins
down my tissue
quiet pulsing
to reach my sassy,
testy, willful toes.


And so I sit repeating,
let it go
just let it go-
While my vengeful
angry
child toes
clench deep and dark
and flip the bird
straight to
your face.

As soon as my toes got wind
of how you treated me
they quickly
sprang up fighting words,
ready to smack your face
to fight
and fend
and defend
the soul that these toes defend.


For although I will move
to remove
my vengeful venom thoughts,
beware
my toes
who never forget
their grudges.

080607

Naked swimming
body naked swimming
ocean naked body
ocean body
clear flat ocean ripples
tickles naked nipples
coarsing livid living
life waves caressing life
shining moon lit mother
shining lighting
glowing milk skin
growing silk fin
lower exposed creamy curves
to join black ice life.

080607

Morning breaks,
misty child wakes.

Mist thick sickly sweet mist.
Cool heavy water thick mist.

Baby deers dew grass thick.
Hidden caverns dew grass thick.

Baby feet, my feet, cold grass lick.
Ocean laughing waves cold waves lick.

Moaning morning mist waves kick.
Dewey grasses damp feet kick.

Broken morning cold face whick.
Broken sweat drip, cold face whick.

Baby morning, morning rise thick sick.
Heavy breathing, foggy breath thick sick.

Sweat slips sickly, thickly sweet back drip.
Morning dripping, slipping cool drop, drip.

Sleepy shrouded,
morning clouded, breaks.

082007

I promised to continue; on the 12th I began a plea for sanity's sake that pulled back memories of all of your faces and all of your speeches seeping deep into my open skull. I promised to continue; tomorrow I said tomorrow. The sleep deprived mind and patterns of body pampering stole you from my fingertips. I PROMISED THAT I WOULD CONTINUE TOMORROW. I lied. And now I sit here spitting at my lack of discipline of loyalty to my memories for now they are buried deep within the depths of my day in and day out I have become the apathy I despised upon returning home from a week of utter mind awakening literary bliss. Now I not only miss you, miss my writers haven, miss poetry camp, miss the ocean and the breeze and the open spaces for creation, thought, solitude, conversation and gentle exhalation; now I miss the memories that I have allowed to fade slowly deep into the murky waters of my mind waves, if I dive deep enough I can barely make you out but just before I reach you, just before I can grab your hair and drag you up, surfacing with all your brilliance saving you and sharing you with the world so as never to be forgotten, just as the tips of my nails brush the ends of your hair flowing upward as you sink down into the darkened dreaded dreary deep; the overwhelming warnings of my nearly bursting lungs gasping against themselves overtakes me and I am forced to turn from you. I kick with frightening desperation to return to my daily life before I loose myself in the permanence of forgotten loves. I promised that I would continue tomorrow. Now, tomorrow is so far gone that I cannot even recall its shape or color or texture. And now I want to do you all justice. My stomach kneads and pleads and begs for me to do justice, to write my epilogue honoring my memories but the photographs were all developed for too long and have become blackened beyond repair. What am I going to do with my memories? Should I forget them as I have already, and forget the attempts I have at bringing them back into my mind? No I need you, I need you, like breath and sunrise and haunting dreams I need you. So if I allowed you to slip through the vowels on my page, to hide beneath the tips of my t's or the slithers of my certain sighs, awaiting their opportunity to slip inside my sentences; if I let you pass unacknowledged, understand this- it was not my intent. For I intended to continue my memories tomorrow.

080607

Seeking jazz or sex or soup
I step into this human loop
to find what I was looking for
A bed, a break, a gentle whore.

To ease my deep and tortured soul
Slide up and down my writer's pole
A poet known, you'll be known too
Through smoke, through sex, through me in lieu

Privilege, power, beats me down
Not yours, but mine, my words they drown
So baby come, just you and me
Just suck me off, I'll set you free

For I'm a poet; so raw, so real
And you can't even start to feel
How deep my literature will go
You just too common, just too slow.

Though I have never felt the wains
Of haunting, constant hunger pains.
And I have never shook all night
Feared for life, awake with fright.
And I have never watched my friends
Come to their violent, murdered ends.
And I have never watched my kin
Both starved and killed for my own sin.

No I don't know what tortures like,
Within my privileged, rebel life
And still, I'm deeper yet than you
Despite where all your past winds blew

My depth will leave you all behind
My tortured, haunted poets mind.

081607

Beat, so beat
can't even rise to move my feet
just beat.

Exhaustion- overwhelming
filling my veins with heavy
thick mud lethargy.

The lids of my eyes
get an extra dose,
insist to close

and body, weighted,
finds absolute comfort
in any rest.

radiate, medicate
and fake the rate
of dreams I bate.

081507

Your kisses are bitter,
a bitter-sweet twitter.
I long for soft lip kissed,
but find a satisfaction missed.
Where is your soft touch?
To love my lusting skin lush?
Oh please, I beg, just hold me tight
Succulant passions throughout the wild night.

081907

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
I am a limp body, wasting
rotting on the scurf of humanity;
eyes rolling inside and outside-
mouth frothing cotton candy sewage,
and I am the child that no one ever wanted.

My thoughts are hot boiled, scalding
To penetrate the years of blacked grime;
I am the God-sent child-
too angry to keep your secrets hidden.
Forgive me Father, for you have sinned.

Leading the faeries deep
into their underground haze,
So that they would follow blinded,
sickened- ever retching
their heart filled spirits
into your bowels of holiness?

And I've arrived this starless night
with tongue tolling, spitting, slicing
inside your ever twisting lies.
What have you done with your morals, Father?

You, callous,
scratched them from your bleeding soul
and stretched them screaming,
tight around your bricks of
greed-lust and power-hunger.
Only to drown them, gasping, sinking-
mouths open, close, pupils rolled back in death.

What crimes have you purged
against the children and
the virgin mothers of our generation, Father?
What have you done to your people?

Pleading, they crawl to you
dragging filthy gangrene stumps
and rotting hairless limbs
to your bedside begging-
leaning- moaning- screaming-
Forgive us Father! For we have sinned!



And your constant throbbing
nightly terrors come, never ceasing,
to haunt you day to night to day returning.
These nightmare souls sneak up on you
slither, snake-like, to remind your ear
of those you have forsaken;

Only then to trickle sweat drip slide
cold wet sweat down your spine-
sending chilling recollections
of your devious temptations,
actions devoid and lost of all their scruples

filling up your withered gardens-
growing blood soaked thorns
slowly stealing the life
from the very God you vowed to serve.

Forgive him Father, for he has sinned!

For this man is merely that.
Despite the midnight fabric flowing,
starching down his human flesh.
We instill your power upon this man,
and then expect of him a super-nature.

Dear Lord save him
from his own darkened dreams
that send him, knuckles white,
pacing through his sin corrupted life.

And save his people Lord;
for they allowed their eyes to close
from fear of a lost life alone
in a snarled mass of hate and pain
cold cement and danger-ridden wilds.

Save your people Lord!

From the boiling mass
of rage and power and murder and greed.
Remove the apathy glaze from our dying eyes
and grant us realization.

For the sand is ever falling,
and our time is running thin,
and if the seas, the winds, the blood-lines
do not find an unrelenting motivation for change-
then my sunken fears will be actualized.

And our sins will never find a cavern still standing
for our misconductations to find their rectifications.

So forgive us Father,
forgive us Father,
Forgive us.

081507

damnit.

it's gone, gone,
left my angst alone
to torture the hairs
flying light upon my head.

how could you leave me-
here with such unrelenting
uninspired, just leave me be
need need need need;

damnit.

the horrific realization
that my fears have all been realized,
returning with such burning lust
and finding myself empty.

i cannot think, write, expand, create
a gentle place safe enough for creation sake
cannot find a chance for solitude
to allow my words to burn out inky lines-

damnit.

leave me be, just go, leave, get off my
train of though that just cannot survive,
you are always here nagging thoughts
such desperate need to escape the mind.

the song has been on repeat since last week
the melodies there, the words unclear
and every attempt I make to share it
so that I might find relief is failed.

damnit!

restless is the understated mode of my mood,
and I can't even think to ask for completion
for the baby's up and my mother is up
and the dogs are barking and the need is begging-

DAMNIT!

081007

We don't all live
in your magical fucking world
of eye drops,
flip flops,
drip drops
and sand fleas.

I climb into bed thinking-
some of us have
children,
jobs,
sexy time
and
lap top tip top
don't stop
to punch the clock
blip blop-
I like words that rhyme.

Eyes burning, searing
open close open
slow motion
like life flashing before my eyes
to help save me,
find a way to save me
before I die.

If you are ever falling from a plane
and your shoot doesn't open,
position yourself in THIS position
for the highest chance of survival.

Sleep now.
Sleep now.
Sleep.

081307

I murdered you last night
you infuriated me
frustrated me
and so I broke your neck.

An act committed with intent
committed without purpose-
can it be called an accident?
I survive within heavy regret.

Your death was slow and painful.
You- attempting to stand
repeating failing efforts
to follow me, pleading- save me.

I don't know how to mend you
only harm you, break you
I yearn for the powers to undo
as I witness you slipping away.

I scream for you, feel ravaging guilt
I want you back.
I didn't get down and snap your spine-
I am more controlled than that.

I grieve your departure.

I waken, hazy bright
forgetting events of the former night.
Come down and see you-
my actions flash flood over me.

I cannot stand, cannot think,
with your bright sad eye stare
so innocent and unaware
the danger that lies within my palms.

I cannot touch you, cannot love you,
my nightly visions warning me
vivid flashbacks haunting me
I will never harm you again.

081207

Laying here I cant help but wonder if I will ever see any of you ever again. I am doubtless to my visions of the Stars but what of the rest of the life blood? You opened my writers heart and now I lay here bleeding onto the sheets with no one here to clean me up. Stop my bleeding, bleeding heart I am so emo, goodness gracious. [Patrick you inspire me, I don't think you ever took my compliments the right way but they were intended.] I miss you all, I miss the energy of a place where I can write, where I can share, where there is no judgement except if I mispronounce Souix or any other word. I just want to rush in the waves and run into the wind and feel the bitter cold against my bare skinned flesh. I want to laugh with you again and hear your sweet sweet music singing mystic melodies into my thoughts. I miss your spinning words inside my mind reaching deep down into my soul, reaching, repeating and resounding verse after verse oh your echoed words have become my curse for I can hear them on repeate like a cheap pop song but never can I reach the words that bring the depth back into my soul. I miss your depth, I feel spite for those around me now who are so out of touch, so unattached, as I was before tasting the weeklong dripping of your literary juices that left me lusting and longing for POETRY. Give me poetry! I want life lived poetically and verse and prose and rhyme and MEANING. I am sick of careless words spouted over the ears of those who suffer them. I am sick of those I interract with speaking without thought of the consequence of their vocabulary. DAMNIT I miss poetry camp; a place where people were open and vulnerable and thoughtful and understanding that everyone is just as vulnerable as you are so DON'T SPIT IN MY MOUTH your nasty skull spit tobacco chew verbs. I need poetic sympathy and hesitation and careful planning of words. I miss you all so much but even more I miss that environment where everything was Fort Flagler and bunkers and bon fires and the Puget Sound and the icey winds and the beaches and the stars scattered momentarily across the blackened night sand. I miss Julia with her openess and undeniable wit, her uncontrollable life and elvin spirit dancing wild across the fire-lit night. I miss Riley with his raw emotions poaring thick across a page to deliver deepness unobtainable by others, his nightlife thrashing passion music filling the night with moshes and stupid uninhibited choices. I miss Erin with her sweet suduction flowing musically sultery into the silenced darkess for everyone will hold their breath to hear what she has to say. Her beauty spoken open sharing love and warmth for every traveling heart to experience. I miss you all, and now I am so tired but I need to list each one of you sharing how I miss your very life. I miss you Stephen, your poetry shockingly humorous and real, carefully chosen words that shot through the thickness of the day and opened my eyes to the reality that things are NEVER what they seem- and Sarah how your gentle voice and unrelenting patience shared Stephen's heart with us with a absolute passion that I have never before seen in a human. Day in and day out I hear your gentle voice repeating, "Breakfast now, breakfast now." I miss that careful melody that played throughout my mind in constant multitude, a consistant reminder not to forget what you have taught to me.

I will continue to share my memories tomorrow...