Tuesday poem #182 : Chris Martin : THE MASKS ARE FOR OUR OWN SAFETY

Duct-taping the mouth of the oracle shut

Finance & hypnosis

Resting & Resisting

Where an evening cloud stains the nasturtiums

And bed bugs leisurely fleece

A handwritten note reading free

As Hurricane Patricia scalps the coast

I say tomorrow, you say opportunity

(everything’s a mouth)

I say opportunity, you say property

As we (endless

Dolly shot) glide across the sidewalks

And I want to fondle each tree

Marked with a green x

Because, I dunno, they’re possessed?

Our red carpet of papier-mâché leaves

Turning full banana peel in the freezing rain

This week we’re fucking and making a baby

Giving the cat away so I can breathe again

There’s a twitch in the hood of my left eyelid

Tapping out Morse code to the half-buried scarecrow

It’s almost Halloween

Scarlet sociopath gardens

Blooming scattered limbs

In manicured yards

I thought these people were middle class liberals

Bill Blass, Ralph Lauren

Atty is waging a nap-strike

Singing bobbikin horn, his pants are all torn

And then mi cabeza over and over

He’s two-and-a-half and he’s going to be

A sexy, sparkly witch

And there’s nothing we can or want

To do about it

He’s the future

The future prolongs his opulent sleeplessness

And I secretly want him to become an engineer

But he’ll probably just become a famous actor

Or worse, a poet

The future is making declarations and practicing her cackle

I need the future to sleep so I can relax

But the future really doesn’t get tranquility

I should just let the future finish this poem

He says Daddy feels the beautiful rain

He says It’s nighttime in other people’s houses

He says I breathe my dark air

He says I become a merry, scary shepherdess

He says Yellow fire, yellow fire

He says I’m going to shrink to the size of an acorn

He says The white astronaut on the white moon opens the white door

He says Petal shovel

He says My astronaut got some moon on him

He says Mama is a witch because she walks in the alley

He says Daddy is a man because he walks into a house and is not a thing

He says Orca in a carriage full of people

He says I’m bellying away from you

He says You don’t want to call it anything

Chris Martin is the author of The Falling Down Dance (Coffee House, 2015), Becoming Weather (Coffee House, 2011), and American Music (Copper Canyon, 2007). In 2015 he co-founded Unrestricted Interest, a consultancy and writing program dedicated to transforming the lives of people with autism. He also teaches at The Loft Literary Center and is a visiting assistant professor at Carleton College.

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan