[wpaudio url=”/audio/june12/Martin.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]
you are stalking me by hiding in envelopes
i have yet to buy. you are doing it with electronics, too.
squatting in the other side of my computer screen
congress couldn’t stop you from merging
into the folds of my grey brain. human ear lobes
grow until death, but my brain is shrinking
by the day, on account of the dreams i have
about the place where sound used to float
into your head. i want to put you back
together like a puzzle or a potato head
but you are so many pieces of dust, stalking me
from the inside of that urn. these continents
haven’t seen your body in over a year & still you grow.
you are the pillow of a sorrow
known by not even the loneliest fetus
& you won’t leave me alone & i’m not tired anymore
& i don’t know if i don’t like it. i am alive
& need to be deflated. i am your blister
& you are my haunt.