Simulacra 889
My words do not skip, whoop, or wheel across the page
There is nothing like it when things get rolling
My father sitting in the kitchen
With a bottle of whiskey
Bare-chested and drunk
And exquisite look upon his face
An intense satisfaction that was experienced more than understood
Life was exploding around me
Blasting away at the hypocrisy
What I have accomplished in this world is meaningless
The search for a meaningful life is the utmost in futility
We only fool ourselves into believing in fairytales
This is the eastside mother fucker
Nothing here will take you back home
This is not a story of hope
We are familiar with great foolishness
Those who cannot embrace the negativity of truth
The light is found hiding in the darkness
People will find it hard to grasp the evil of the soul
The soul surpassed the mind
The soul dominated the mind and placed the mind into slavery
Thoughts become controlled by the soul
With lack of use, the mind grew weaker
she could understand everything
even when I began in the middle of a sentence
telling how things happen
three bottles of mad dog
and I’m singing merry christmas
climbing up water towers
buying 200 hits of microdot
it was then that I realized that there was nothing to fear
slipping something hot into the moon
tipping the scales
taking the blidfold off of justice
feeling her up under her robe
the two hemispheres of her brain
seeking the end with a full gaze
you have been contaminated by the luxury of five dollar ideas
another incarnation of the bottomless pit
wanting to restore all of your appetites
hundreds of corpreal miles
making love to the mother and the daughter
modulations of a freakish nature
I am squeezed out into measure
there is tension and inflation
a line of women waiting for us to finish
they both had nipple rings and a pierced belly button
in the summer they were blonde
and in the winter brunette
I am proposing the end of the soul
Religion has oppressed the history of reason
There is no reason to think when all of the answers are provided
Thus, the mind mutated into this non-thinking entity
Religion created the birth of the weakling
Each of us has one foot planted in the essential
I revive and restore
We no longer have to look backward
Our gaze should be firmly established on the future
Removing the effect of religious determinism
The absence of a horrid determination
Removing the means of the repressive productions
You were freed to be truly yourself
Not some fabricated caricature of your true self
I made you free to live according to your own wishes
Not the dictates of some manmade deity or deities
There is no utopia in heaven or on the earth
Martin’s work is solidly based on the concept of poetry as a social construction. Through our interactions with others, we create and recreate meanings that allow us to make sense out of a chaotic world full of contradictions. Martin considers the art of writing poetry as one small way of collapsing the confusion of experience into more meaningful patterns of social thought. You can find more of Martin’s thoughts at: http://martinfreebase.blogspot.com
