Insufficient Canvases (I'll be ay-okay)

[More fun with form and content, and more day dreaming about uncertainties. Enjoy!]

And there are some things I can’t say aloud, to you, that
I can confess to a crowd, I do, not
Really understand, why I prioritize so upside down
Either go on your way or come back
I’ll be ok either way

I’ve been living every year at a day by day pace
Turning every corner, expecting to see your face on
Every stranger, starring as they pass by
Two years ago, you left, sunspots on my eyes

They say I have to move on…

But I will not settle for less
I won’t let anything get in my way
My cannon’s armed and ready
I cannot lower my aim
I’ll be ay-ok.

Anything I say becomes
Rock like and stone and I might just regret sharing
Everything, they are little words and phrases
these little sounds I make,
Elocution flaws
Loose around my mouth,
They can’t explain all you are.

A painter that wants the sea recreated, on
Insufficient canvases
Every stroke misplaced
Like sugar free, so slight yet
Like prosthetic legs - not enough, undone,
like this song.

And I will not settle for less
I won’t let anyone get in my way
My cannon’s armed and ready
I cannot lower my aim.

I shoot for the moon to land among the stars
The distance sometimes feels that far
Either way, I’ll be ay-ok.

6 through 10 of 19

[6 through 10 of '19'. Don't think to much about it, don't think too little. Its vaguely specific and not at all realistic or literal. We're talking, if poems were paintings, this is a Pablo Picasso piece based off of a Dali idea, painted on a crowded bus that's driving down a mountain, swerving around pot holes and playing the radio too loud. What song is playing? You pick, my imagination ends here. Oh, and disclaimer: None of this was written under the influence of drugs. Promise. Thank you. -Theo]


6.
What if I died on my birthday?
Would I really die at all?
Would 19 be it?

Ta da!
That's it!
Two decades!
Almost! So close!
Too bad, so sad!
That's all folks!
You don't have to go home
but you can't stay here.

And then,
I go in the ground
or an ugly pot
or maybe I'll float
in the sea, mixed with purple sugar
and memories and cartoon strips
from friends and fans and both.
I’ll float and float and float...


7.
What are they going to say or do?
Will they win? Did it help?
Will they find the tapes?
Imagine someone threw everything out!
"Its just a poor man’s personal effects."
A poor man who lived his whole life
Doing nothing important
To or for
Anyone or anybody
And in the last few years,
He changed the world.
Oh boy!


8.
I’ll float under the golden bridge
and away and away and away
On my back, looking up
At the sky…

Like i did
As a kid
At Robert Moses beach
I would,
Until a big wave would come
Tackling me in an embrace
Leaving that Atlantic taste
Of salt, dirt and algae…


9.
That taste,
It kind of reminds me of my first NYC green tea,
college visits and applications celebrated
in this awfully dirty place midtown that
I never went to again.

I drank about half to be polite.
I was so much younger then, a year ago.
I'm not much older now, a year later.
And yet that's all it takes to change your life,
A year.
Or less.
Maybe more.

Depends on when you define
the starting point of change
and the final point, its completion.


10.
When does an inch begin and end?
Aren’t you always a little off?
How can you be precise?

If you’ve got 1, you could be holding 1.1 and not know it.
Or 1.01, or 1.001, or 1.0001, or 1.00001, or!
You could be holding exactly 1
and nobody believes you!
I'd hate that!

What if nothing is real?
Surprise! Nothing is.
Its not much of a surprise
if you’ve consider it before.

I bet that's why they
don't make movies
about it anymore.

5 of "19"

[Five pieces of my epic poem/long-ass poem 'Nineteen', and just a taste of the insane stream-of-conciousness writing that ensued. -Theo]


1.
Today’s the big day!
It doesn’t feel very big.

Look at me,
I’m presenting myself on this stepping stone
Give us a spin!
A whole 19 years old!

Do I say “all that?” or “that’s all?”
I’m not sure.


2.
It feels like it all started yesterday
...If yesterday started ages and ages ago

Or maybe its vice versa.
Maybe I’ll never know.


3.
Well, happy birthday!
Enjoy yourself!

Its really just another day.
What else is new, but you?
And the people younger then you.
And the people older then you!
And the people exactly your age!
Surely, that’s impossible.
Unless someone held a stopwatch
at the very moment you made
your first cry
as
your last foot
slipped out.
But
even that could be inaccurate
if he wasn’t looking,
or his hands were slow…


4.
In the grand scheme of everything,
We’re all new.

If you fit the entire life of the earth
on a 12 month calendar,
Humans have only existed for two minutes
And the dinosaurs died in September!
Imagine that…
So much for back to school...


5.
But even human existence is really big.
So is a millennia, and a century, and a decade.
A year can be big. A day can be big.
Today is big, right?

I wrote all that in a minute.
See? Even minutes are big.

But 525,599 minutes later
is another year.

Minutes feel small now.

#18 (Eighteen)

[Poem about both the age and the sonnet - I'll give a million cool points to who can specifically recognize the inspiration of this piece. DISCLAIMER: Cool points cannot be redeemed for cash, only compliments. - Theo.]




18.


Eighteen months later, I’m still at this desk,
Tallying the days since June Twenty-fifth.
I’m next to the phone, incase you should call.
Should you write, I moved it near the mail box.


I just sit and I stare… I double-take where,
I see familiar strangers with sun in their hair.


Eighteen months, over a year of my life.
Five hundred twenty days to be precise.
I’ve filled book aft’r book, this entire time.
I’ll run out of page ‘fore I keep you mine.


This case is hopeless, Yes, but regardless
The dream mixed with the memory
Producing endless poetry
Surpassing the beauty of reality


So you are heartless, Yes, so I know this
Slither, shadowed by gallant fantasy
Facts dissolve in attractive mystery
They live longer then us, in infamy.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”


When you leave your things, you leave an excuse,
To converse, return, what we’ve been reduced.
Words cannot tell how or what is true of:
When beauty lived and died as flowers do, love.


Someday, somehow, a letter will summarize
Immortalize passion that never dies.
I’m too much of a perfectionist
When its done I swear you’ll get it


But not this letter
I can do better.


The dream mixed with the memory
Producing endless poetry
Surpassing the beauty of reality
Facts dissolve in attractive mystery
Someday, somehow, a letter will summarize
Immortalize passion that never dies.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”



Oh, Eighteen

Months, your sunny blonde turned white.
Slither, Shadow, Six feet below sun’s light.


The dreams I had will eternally thrive
In publication of my written mind.


Once… I write it right, I write.
“It will once… I write it right.”

Cigarette Sabbaticals

(Ever notice how "smoke" and "don't" kind of rhyme? Maybe not rhyme, sound similar might be the better word... Theo)


Broken promises and cut
Short
Cigarette sabbaticals
After pulling down to the filter
Where it tastes like a barbers parlor
The hair spray and tar linger…

Throw it down now.
Crush, rub, snuff,
Into the ground.

I’ll leave the cement
And head north west.
Upstate, nature’s pavement,
The granite slabs that
Move in wind
As if they can breathe…

Unlike these city streets
Lifeless and polluted with
Ends of cancer stick butts,
Means of taking each breath
For granted…

Cigarette Sabbaticals
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

(Temporary Title)

(Here's another piece, returning back to my usual form and rhyme tendencies. This is also one that sounds better performed then just read, so keep that in mind. If you pay attention to the meter, and the amount of syllables in each line, you'll see what I'm talking about. The form has as much to do with the meaning as the content does. Or, you could just read it, and not count. Which ever. Who am I to tell you what to do? :) - Theo]


Love,
It’s… Strange.
Love?
We’ve changed.

Slowly
But surely
Things are
Coming to me
Learning
And Hurting
Starting
Understanding


It’s moments like these
When I’m not asleep
But lying in bed
Toss-turning my head
In two directions
Making no decisions
I’m learning my lessons
But handed graded quizzes

And “sorry”
It just might be
Just short of
Of explaining
How I feel
Bout how you’ll feel
For this New Deal
As it is revealed

But you have no choice
But to raise your voice
This time you can’t stop me
And I won’t give up lightly

It’s because
I lost to you
Far too many times
And now you have lost me
And I’m finally all mine

Words will never explain
How these tragedies build up
On to such a great dream
So it can never live up
To its fullest potential
The decay is exponential
And once it finally dies
Then, Then I will no longer cry

Oh, Forever, The ship has been sinking
And trust me, believe me, I have been bailing
The water rushes in faster then my pail fills up
Not necessarily quitting but a necessary give up
Surrender, Surrender, to heavy problems that pile, pile up
Then you will see there are more fish in the sea once you get in and you swim
Its time to dive in, no more wading, no more waiting, no more toe testing in
It’s over.

I love you, I love you.
And while Our lives end
Now, here my life
And your life
Begin,
Friend


[P.S. Anyone with title suggestions? It'd be much appreciated! -Theo]

Slow Drag

[Free form! On of the few open verses you'll see, so appreciate the lack of attention to rhyme and rhythm. A few things do rhyme but that wasn't entirely intended. Enjoy! Theo]

Slow drag,
magically blissful.
Slow, as if it were precious,
and I look up at the tallest top of the tallest tall building
hoping to stir vertigo with light-headedness.

(Its funny...
how you can't see the stars in the city.)

People pass,
Saying nothing verbally.

I look up,
and I see my reflection
in a metal awning above me.
This is what I look like to stars.

I see volcanic clouds surround me,
streaming from my mouth.
As if beneath my mantle
lived magma,
once pressured and poised to explode,
relaxing with every exhale of ash.

Eventually
inhaling feels as easy as breathing,
in and out... in, out...
(Because ignorance...)

It's funny how you can't see the stars in the city,
because of light pollution, among others.
I wonder if they can still see us.
Sometimes, during certain blushing moments,
I hope not.

Lately I've been trying to take the stairs
over escalators and elevators,
choosing reality over money and machinery,
but there will always be that dependency.

Slow drag,
medically hurtful,
Slow, but worthless.

But!
Its said that ignorance
on fire
is better then knowledge
on ice.

Slow Drag
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Malori (raw piece)

[And now you can see a poem as it grows. This is word for word what I scribbled on a napkin after running into an old friend - and I use this term loosely. More like a very close acquaintance, someone I became very close with at a school retreat, hung out a few times, lost touch, and she hasn't given me the time of day since. Until the other day, when I saw her. Strangely awkward encounter and sudden reminder of a love that I had that never grew. I found the napkin and decided to share this infant of a piece, that is, if it ever grows to become a piece, much unlike the subject itself, which never became anything. Raw, untouched, undeveloped, and overexposing how I speak my mind. Hope you enjoy. Theo]


Malori
She has two colored eyes
the left different from the right
ones blue ones green
not a shade in between
but if the two combined
they'd color the Atlantic skyline
they're deep but they're light
illuminating and bright
her eyes leave sunspots on mine
i don't know what the rest of her looks like
because whenever
the pair
is there
i swear
i stare
and fall in.

The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Oil (Anything To Stop Your Whining)

[Happy 2nd of 3 Friday the Thirteenths this year! What a lucky, lucky year. Maybe that's not sarcastic... Either way, here's a shortie but I'm mid-writer's block. Enjoy the drought, it will make you appreciate the rain! Theo]


The Squeaky Wheel

I’d do anything for you
Anything
I mean anything
If you promise you’ll stop your whining
Because I can only take you
In small doses
Small portions
The tiniest milligrams of you can poison
The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

Color Television

[Well, I personally hate TV. I think its a waste of time. I like to watch shows - but from a computer. The difference is eventually I have to get off my butt to watch something else, but televisions? Nah. They were built to run all day, and all night, and all the next day. Its the media keeping us fat and incubating us like little money babies in our own homes. I say this as I change my major to Media and Communications... Theo]


Color television

You watch your television in HD and color
Grumbling mumbling much like your father
Watching his whole life in black and white
Seeing the world in two tones, day and night

You watch your back when you’re with company
You can’t show your emotion’s without seeming funny
You cut off self expression to preserve your ideals
You suffocate yourself from admitting how it feels

It was once the same thing as people with color
In your fathers time they were treated as others
Now that your view sitcoms in a rainbow of hues
Sharply, suddenly, equality feels different to you

But just as one light can fill an entire room
I know the truth will shine through, and soon
Just as the colors of moving flashing screen
Change the walls, the floors, and all in between

Because, You watch your television in HD and color
The facts are in front of you and they couldn’t be clearer
We are all completely different, and this way is better
It’s what makes us the same, what holds us together

Color Televison
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Ballad of the Hedonist

[Ah! Long time, no poem. My tremendous apologies. It will never happen again... Maybe. Nevermind. I can't back that up. Whoops. Stay tuned, despite the hiatus. -Theo]


Ballad of the Hedonist

You are cheating death
With each laugh out the car window
You are cheating life
With each little pill you swallow

You’re getting pleasure
But you’re skipping out on the pain
Each absent lecture
Validated, Excused in vain

You think the world is going to slow down it’s rotation
If and when you decide you don’t like your direction
You are going to threaten and beg the game to reset
But there are no plugs to pull out, No do-over buttons

You know what you’re doing
Toss your hair back, like it’s all a commercial
At least it is convincing
You look twenty one, but where’s your bible?

Your parent’s how to raise a child guide
It is sitting on the very same shelf
A puritan put it in, wanting life
Wanting to see heights, wanted to know wealth

Is that such a bad thing
Are you such a bad kid
You’re not home studying
But you can say you lived

What if you died at eighteen
Never ever had a trip, a love, a drink
Never made a chemical mistake
People will have nothing to think

Of your Saturday’s alone
Because that’s where you would be
Say goodnight in a quiet tone
Sunday’s sermon’s beckoning

It is such a debate to tackle
Since before the days of the trails to Oregon
Preserve rations until you settle
Or feast, seize the day. Until morning, party right on.


Ballad of the Hedonist
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Whether Accident or Intentional

[My first sonnet! I think you can call it that. My english professor always says writing free formed poems is like painting abstract - it doesn't mean you're a good artist, but it doesn't make you a bad one. Plenty of people say, "oh, I don't do realism, I paint abstract" when the truth is, they just can't. If you can paint the hard way, or write in a traditional form, you'll have a better knack for easy going open verse forms, and you'll actually be doing something when you paint abstract! What do you think? -Theo]


WHETHER ACCIDENT OR INTENTIONAL

What do you do when you wound animals?
Whether accident or intentional.
Do you bring to it a swifter short end?
Or wait and let it walk until its dead?
How can you put it out of misery?
Do you know its capacity to survive?
Since miracles happen so constantly
Yet it’d be sin to let the ‘thing’ just die.
You have in one way, or several others,
Ruined our chance of being together.
Will we walk down aisles until we die?
Or will I quit, Bringing a swift quick end?
Whether Accident or Intentional
We are two wounded animals.

Entry.

[This one's diving in the deep end. I feel it necessary to add - it's not written from the first person, so no worries. It's the point of view of a very close friend of mine, written after I first witnessed/learned of her daily night terrors first hand. Tough topic to cover through poetry, this is my shot at it. My only advice to anyone going through any kind of parental/spousal abuse: Talk! - Theo]


Entry.

My eyes have seen
enough as it is.
These tears, My heart
is water damaged.

Breaking an entry
inside your skeleton
Going through your things
without a warrant

Without permission, Without consent,
Without any mutual verbal agreement.
Without a care - how will these wounds scar?
I honestly haven’t planned that far

And now you know how it feels.

Didn’t you know,
You reap what you sow?

Karma caught you like you caught my arm
A tight hold, a strong grab that implies harm
The kinds that ruptures veins under the skin
So the next day you struggle to hide the bruises

Do you like
being on the other side?
Do you like
Having trouble sleeping at night?

Be honest,
I didn’t.
But I’ll admit,
I might sleep better covered in scars
Knowing you’re behind bars
Trying to sleep on a cold hard bed
Next to an inmate who fancies men

No diary entry has been enough
to soak up the tears and heal the wounds
I could use all 100 pages/200 sheets
But I would only need more paper by noon

No one thought, no one could predict
how you'd enter my mind and my thoughts, too
It wasn't as simple as picking up and leaving
and it wasn't as easy as just tattle-taleing.

I guess we'll never understand each other's sides
At least I have the upperhand for doing what was right

Irony is tragic and hard to understand
But behave and benefit from its plan.


Entry by Theo Martin
copyrighted 2009

The Spark

[Happy Valentine's day all! Here's one to coincedental/accidental first kisses, minus the hassle of the trouble it can cause! You can read plenty of those poems later. This piece is pure electricity! Hope you enjoy, Theo.]

A fire in my belly
Back drafting out of my eyes
My nose, my mouth, and my hands
Flames leaping out of my pores
And jumping into yours.

Your big brown eyes
Like two big black holes
They have gravities of their own.

Their pulling me in,
imploding in themselves,
Making me disappear,
Blending me into one.


Like metal to a magnet,
We accelerate towards each other.
Closer, faster, and connect.

We catch each other with such finesse
Like a puzzle, it was just meant.
Fate, in a way. Just-
Like two cars clip in an accident.

A spark of static leaps across.
Your lips tingle against mine.
Your arms tangle around me.

We’ve created something, big.
It could be a life, it could be a mess.
Its getting hot standing here
So close to you in the freezing cold.
Is it just me?

Like a spot light from the heavens,
Shining down upon us,
There’s a chemistry between us,
Besides the chemical in our blood.

I pull away, then I return,
as the tension insists.

For a moment I’m surrounded
By an eerie calm of distraction,
an ignorant bliss.

These problems, their symptoms,
No longer persist.
You are a friend, a medicine,
A finely combined mix.

I’m left stunned and speechless
Shot by a dart to the heart
And I didn’t even see it coming.
But I feel as if I could've.

This fire in me,
This fire I have,
It roars loudly and burns quickly,
From one heart to the next to the next.

I'm trying to find the right extinguisher
That will cool it to just a low steam
Slowly emitting a pot of hot water
Ready for a tea.

This fire burns bridges,
But it needs you.
I need you.

You are more then just a convenience
You are much more then just a route.
There’s a reason I stop to speak to you
And I don’t just pass on my commute.

I don’t want to play darts at hearts again,
I tend to miss the mark.
But I cant deny this science
I cannot argue with the spark.

The Spark
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Bothersome Reminders

(This piece is incomplete, but you wouldn't know that unless you read this, huh?)

This is a song that gets on every body’s nerves….
WELL I would like to die in a hospital bed
As much as I would like to lie with your songs in my head
It’s got an inescapable hook, its almost addictive
I’m coming off to strangers as slightly obsessive
This is foreign territory, I might regret it
This isn’t Kansas anymore, its unprecedented
You ask if I’m ok, I say honey you said it
I’m fine, I feel great, I just wish I was dead and

There’s nothing I can do
To get your songs our of my head
Your songs in my head
Its stuck in my head
There’s nothing I can do
To get these bugs from my bed
Get them out of my bed
They’re in my bed

They’re telling me
You thought you could be
Anything
Anything you wanted to be
You thought you could have
Anything
Anything you wanted to have
Well guess what
Guess what you want
Guess what’s not gonna be
Under your tree
Don’t you see

You’re better off wishing for world peace
Those beauty pageant girls get better beauty sleep

Bothersome Reminders
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

The Key Change

The key change.
The song jumps.
The mood switches.

The atmosphere lifts off my shoulders,
And takes me with it like an alien ship
Gravity lifting my ears into space
And for that split second
I’m squished into one little being
And yanked through a vacuum
Pulled into the song
Like a long lost love pulling me to the water that splashes on a shore,
Or a good friend pulling me through a crowd closer to the stage,
Or like a fireman pulling me through the rubble to safety,
And once I’m there,
The floor is put back under my feet,
The weight of the world returns and rests gently on my shoulders.
The tidal wave seeps into the earth,
And the rhythm and the waves roll once more,
Catching their footing on the time line
Of this new layer.

And the song comes to a close,
The last chord is strummed.
The journey ends when I land the jump and stick it.

The Key Change
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin.

He.

He’s got a bit of a god complex
But then again who doesn’t?
He’s the kind that thinks of you
When everyone else wasn’t.

And he thinks he’s at the tip
Of an iceberg that’s melting quick
And if he doesn’t jump, he’ll miss it
He’s honest but he doesn’t know what the truth is.

And he thinks he’s at the edge,
But he’s got a while to go.
And he hopes it’s just a phase or a test,
But these days you never know.
Reality appears,
And vanishes just as quick.

He’ll never be complete.
He’s filling a crater by kicking dirt with his feet.
He’s riding on wheels up a hill that’s too steep,
He’s running from the truth that will put him on the streets.

And he considers speaking out
So much
He can’t keep count
Of who
Think they know
Or know he think’s
When will I -- Will I? -- Can I?
Can I ever be free?

And he tries, he tries, he tries
To look on the bright side of life.
And he thinks he’s at the edge,
He’s got a while to go.
And he hopes it’s just a phase or a test
But these days you never know.
Reality appears,
And vanishes just as quick.

Sometimes
the brightest lights
Have the darkest thoughts,
Burning on this idea that it will light itself,
Like it lights everyone else.
Like it will inspire itself
To look on the bright side tonight,
He lives night by night,
And dies a little each time.

So,
They told him to write a note
Of all the things he hated most,
But he couldn’t find all the words
That could best describe
The hate he has inside,
And it was
All aimed at himself.

They said now burn the note
And watch the ashes float
So he took it to his throat.
He used the subject as the media
And made the act an art.

He left,
Leaving nothing behind,
Letting no one know-
What goes on behind scenes
Of a one man duel identity scheme
He didn’t look back,
He didn't have to.
He was free.


He.
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Imagine (How It Could Happen)

I call you at work and say
Don’t worry I’ll make it quick
You say you’ve got a minute
That’s when I pop the question

This is one of those situations
That I have imagined
Over and over again
In my head, in my head.

It’s a known fact that everyone
Goes to Yankee Stadium
Say what’s that on the screen?
Oh look it’s you and me
It’s a little cliché, I’d say.

So to avoid being a total tool
I take you to see Regina at McCarren Pool
And as the rain falls down
I get jewelry out as you turn around

I hope I’m not being too pretentious, Hoping you’ll say yes
But to be fairly modest, you have a choice I guess
But I’m a believer in fate, and an optimist
Some things are just to great to be coincidence

I’m too wired to sleep, you get ready for bed
You ask if I had something to say, I look like you have three heads
You say, “Oh, I must be imagining things”
Tonight is not the night, I put away your ring.

I’m a believer in fate, and an optimist
Some things are just to great to be coincidence.
I’m a believer in fate, and an optimist
Some things are just to great to be coincidence.

Imagine (How It Could Happen) by Theo Martin

We Might As Well (Since We're On Our Way To Hell)

So, I walk in
I brought my two friends
And we’re sitting at the bar
Drinking Heinekens.

And that’s when you,
That’s when you walk in.
You caught the corner of my eye
And you turned my head,

Like a hook.
My sights are locked in
But my safety is on
in case you got a boy friend!

Like a hook
Of a song in my head
I can’t repress the words
And soon I just start singin’

Come on, Come on
You know its wrong.
You know you know
Don’t act like you know better/
Come on, It’s wrong
Isn’t that why
its seems so right?
Hey.
Come on, Come on
You know its wrong.
You know you know
Don’t act like you know better
Come on, It’s wrong
But if
We’re on our way to hell…
We may as well.

Maybe its because
I’m going for the subtle thing
you haven’t been
able to tell

That I’m thinking
I didn’t travel,
all this way
To keep my hands to myself

Let’s go
They don’t care
Don’t you know
It’s true.
Let’s leave
Let’s get out, please
Don’t you know
It’s you.

From the time
That I met you
I knew, Oh yeah, Oh, Oh, I knew.
From the time
That I met you
It wasn’t even an hour ago…

Come on, Come on
You know its wrong.
You know, you know
Don’t act like you know better
Come on, It’s wrong.
Isn’t that why
its seems so right?

If we’re on our way to hell.
Oh yes, we’re on our way to hell,
If we’re on our way to hell…
We might as well.


We Might As Well (Since We're On Our Way To Hell)
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin

Get up, Federico.

You are a flattened tire
folded over a hanging wire
like a Salvador Dali picture
Of clocks melting in the fire.

Well,
Isn’t it avant-garde,
How your posed in such a way
That your body is displayed
To soon be sold away.
Get up, Federico.
Go home.

I know, We could be
Hangnails of the eyes,
Catching the looks of strangers
Studying the arm around my shoulder
Shielding children’s sight
from the wonder.

And, yes, I maybe be into theater,
The attention and dramatics,
But I’ve got a lot to live for
And I’m not about to risk it.
Get up, Federico.
Go home.

In my head,
I’m a surrealist,
So I know a place where we’re possible
But I know it doesn’t exist yet,
So I will turn the other cheek until
I can be more then lyrics
With which you fumble and struggle
To mold into my image
But you find words are less malleable
Then my hands, myself,
My heart, and my help.

Oh, The persistence of memory
Will never let me
Forget these things
That sting my mind
From the back of my eyes
Until my tear ducts erupt
And build up and cry:

For God’s sake,
Get up, Federico.
Get up and go home.
I don’t want you here anymore.
Your not the muse I’m looking for.

Get up, Federico.
My casa by the sea
Isn’t where you’re meant to be.

You’re a crime against humanity
Beneath the dying olive tree.
You’ll finally find peace,
But it won’t be next to me.


Get up, Federico.
copyrighted 2009 by Theo Martin.