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Nathan Martin

1980 Cordoba

the sun overhead is noticably upset.

the sun is late in the evening raging
through its galitic colisack.

round and round it goes.

the sun is a 1980 chrysler cordoba.

the sun has an eight track that plays
lou rahls 'love is a hurtin thing'.

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Delta Park

playing soccer getting kicked
in the shins by somebody named
juan, talking sh*t afterwards.
carrying a little bravado in my
93 subaru impreza

, as we pull into the parking lot
of the chinese american dive bar
called mings
drink and fill up on msg
talk more sh*t,

but its all over now
my delta park days put on the shelf
like on old chuck norris video.

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Biblical Audiology

prophetic verses set like smooth stones
past the camels dry chiseled steps.

next to a parable and a jawbone.
the dead sea testamental tongues
leaflike water the valley of acacia
transposing thier verbal vernacular.

the oral traditions passed down
by the giver of ghost
and imprinted on the skull
bones of martyred saints.

down where bone becomes papris,
the course stones shed thier skin.

and under the fingernails of an old
god the fossils prophesy.

yes the dry bones prophesy...

[...] Read more

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Sherlock Holms

Sometimes i wish i was sherlock holms
so i could wear a wool cap to write poems

then perhaps drink some tea and study my notes
to find the foggy killer who wears black coats

so in the night i would make my rounds
parting the mist with my hounds

with a lantern in hand over cobble stones
following shadows wherever they roam

then pausing to stoke my pipes dark seasoning
wrapped in a tweed coat using deductive reasoning

tell old watson, dear watson my friend
i believe our search is at an end

though in the morgue she lay long dead
watson grabbed the newspaper and read

[...] Read more

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Count Dracula

far beneath the steeples of cobble stoned london,
he moves without the parting of a shadows grace.
from morning to morning he carries no longing.

under the heavy hymns of the luthern organs
he breaths amongst centuries of dead and
thoughtful saints

he can see thier forms in the darkened hour,
thier drawn out robes crested and wrinkled.
the emblems of holy words dust covered and faded.

now once again he must part the letters
in tombs of mortered regret.

ressurection of the coffin figure to wander and speak
to whom he may, walking through herb gardens.

carried by tombstone... gravestone october winds,
which blow hollowly causing his morbid child to flee,

[...] Read more

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