M.G. Martin

THE BAND IS PLAYING CTRL + ALT + DELETE, AGAIN

the pipes decide to take a smoke break & tell the water to catch a cab to the various people
which is like how before becoming a box the board was many business cards, all advertising you.

yet the anxiety of a shoe box waiting for the shoes to be made feels like it looks like a sewer on fire. & how the months fought for space before the calendar was invented into twelve boxes

is like how the box of organic miracle grow is addressed to what doesn’t kill us still hurts which is where we live.

& saying that the rose in the microwave is you & i am the tinfoil saving you from the electrical fire i.e. life is like how the miracle isn’t the growth the miracle is in the act of miracle.

yet if you fill a large pipe with water, roses, cardboard boxes, calendars & microwaves you may get a miracle & if you touch that large pipe to your poorly named tongue you may have invented yet another way to die

is like how when i say & the band keeps playing ctrl + alt + delete i mean that you remind me of whatever the phrase important things means yet the pipes are smoking again & the water is getting anxious & the calendars are shoe boxes & the sewers are burning so cheer up.

*

*

MY OWN LITTLE FORECAST, LOST

the rest of them were telling
me to get myself afloat
when i first saw her walking
—each step a television
advertisement for weather
needs like hail vacuums & lawn
steroids—walking straight at me.
jesus christmas christ i said
there is a weather system
walking straight at me.
she walked straight past me i wished
to publically declare my
homosexuality
but, like now, i wasn’t queer
but she made me odd: happy
i had been passed by by such
a fleshy weather system.
she turned me into a bad
pun.
stunned, i bought a hail vacuum
& maxed out my credit on
the most illicit & rare
lawn steroids, even though i
didn’t own a plot of lawn.
i shoveled so much nothing
from my driveway hoping for
snow or hail to be vacuumed.
i fed the lawn steroids to
my microwave & bookshelves
hoping for a freakish rash
of in-home lawn miracles.
i even parted my hair
on my head’s opposite side
hoping the winds would change course
like my awkward hair & bring
that weather system straight at
my blundering appearance.
now i’m resigned to staring
at the weather channel for
new leads. sixteen seasons have
passed since she first passed by me
but i’m serene in this search
because everyone’s always
talking about the weather.

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