[All poems © 1994 by Martin Grider]
Love is pasty like glue.

...and sweet the imagination,
but hey, so what?

This was and is all for you,
with love,



The wild card of impending doom.

somehow the forest around me represented
an inescapable death grip on life
it was the little things that captured and molested
mostly flies and mosquito
but to some degree the life itself
tried desperately to excite me
You could relate this to a moth
...drawn to flame.
Written 6-19-94

How our eyes work.

I’d lived behind a drawn curtain for so long...
I don’t know if I’d recognize the pale light anymore,
of soft white light bulbs,
of sunlight streaming in a window.

there are days when it seems like the ice has broken
and I can see the fire beneath.
but the thoughts I have on that only make me know without doubt
that the ice is only beginning to part.
I can only see so far inside her...
Every day I long to see more.

I couldn’t see without the light.
tiny pixels that scream at me when I watch them
but without the light they are nothing.
and sometimes I wonder if I am nothing without them...

racing for the end of a road I know ends in a cliff
that is why every day has to be slow and savored
I see with eyes that are closed
the infinite order and chaos
of color and texture

what are senses unused?
have the earth give me a gift.
I want to touch the tongues that are my feet
to the dirt surface
tasting with dance
the love it has for me...

ignite my hands
leap into the sky flame
while I hold you
up, you fly high for me
shuffling the air into red colors
eating what I breathe
and leaving a dark stain of smoke
on the clouds.

Once I drank all the ocean
all life passed through me
and at once I knew the wrong
that I never would have seen.

A smile is like wiping dust from the television screen.
I don’t know about bleeding, but it’ll hurt, and then nothing is left.
I hate being left with nothing
and a sad smile on your face
I could see inside you, and there was only more for me to absorb.
drinking and eating you was the best thing
about a mediocre day

I had to pan in and zoom to your face...

How our love is like a Sagebrush

There are branches
that tangle and grow together
breathing sap and taking in the light

We Grow. So does he.
our love forming complex intricacies
while his branches are budding, so do we
The sagebrush’s leaves are dusty gray almost blue in the light
our love has no color, but that of the moon and the sun
those that it shares with the sagebrush

like the sounds that regularly enter
from the bedrooms next door, our love, like the sagebrush’s
lives in passion.

Unlike the sagebrush, our love is not short,
though it may be close to the ground.
and when the sagebrush reaches for the sun
height does not matter at all...


the only key is in U
I played in you on a rainy day,
when I couldn’t go outside,
mommy told me to practice my music,
there you were, the most wondrous
music my eyes had ever seen,
springing forth came notes unheard
from your lips and other silent body parts


with a kaleidoscope
I can see you for who you are
in many rainbow colored faces
you can smile and I will just see your eyes
you can frown and I will just see the tears.

The alligator’s eyes

love eyes of blue tint
over a green truth,
shaped wrong and beautiful.
stay open and watch mine,
or close with an inward sigh
and craned backward neck
so long and lovely
tasting of sweat.

Dry Whispers

not new
in corners not forbidden
dry crying and clean cheeks
she holds up

here nest
what scratchy lips
what awful goodness
she holds up

with hands often soft
and wooden shoulders
it’s me
she holds up

Good listening

looking up at ceilings
holding hands
listening with more than our ears
we each felt
what the other said.

Oh Boy! A smile.

look in this month of June
at the moths that have collected
at my window chasing light

now I’ll swallow a bitter pride
becoming my own pet
smiling all the more for it

a moth who’s wings were particularly bright
colorful moth, who’s life I would have mine
she smiles too

dearest mother and father
who no longer share the same bed
in June, no longer share the same house

a smile. I have conjured on moth’s face
would be worth a thousand smiles on mine.
indeed, one has already proven it’s worth and more

Bad Memory Now...

you didn’t want that part of me.
just because it was depressing
doesn’t mean it isn’t still me.

here I am sitting
saying things to your face
that I could never say to your ears
I cannot scream that you need to learn
loud enough for you to hear me.

I put off as a fault that I couldn’t do anything about
something that I may have just had to say something in the order of
to fix.

those things are way high tonight
I can’t believe that so much has gone wrong.

catch the drops

I would cream like milk too long
with circumcised pen
all would spill out
much of you, so much
could be salvaged
held up and seen through
again I would swallow it
would fill a syringe with it
that much of you
I could take again
and again
weeping at the beauty of it
with a smile for the pain
like a wounded man
holding his skin together
I would hold you in
and catch the drops
that fell through my fingers...


are a finger
I have licked
and put into my mouth,
-sucked upon screaming-
taking in too little.
You I have tasted
but wanted
to eat.

are a blanket
warmly, softly.
I hold you close
needing the soft sleep,
bringing a dream
in which I am
a blue frog.

are a spot
on the horizon
I am just making out,
I am walking towards,
and I will cross the ocean
to touch you.

Silhouettes of braided tree branches

Silhouettes of braided tree branches
lean high into the almost-night clouds.
I saw a space ship in one,
and then I thought I heard you behind me
singing a soft song,
now that I have heard you sing.

A gentle breeze,
one could almost say caressed me,
I imagined it was your lingering hands
miles to me now.

But OUR journey,
only weeks old,
cannot stop here.
Miles over a cliff of time,
we will reach no rocky face.

For we are a cactus flower,
yellow and red, so rare in bloom.
Though our roots find little water,
we will celebrate the coming of spring.


The fireworks passed me by,
I didn’t even watch that night
I was in a basement hoping
her mother wouldn’t come down.
I haven’t ever cared about them
but they’re fun to watch.

Today is the sun

holding hands with golden rays
dreaming bright red color changes
with my back against the green softness
palms pressed tightly.

I know our thoughts are like soup
and left to themselves
will separate
so I open my mouth and stir
because I want to taste them,
I want to taste you
glinting like stars or diamonds
both pierce my soul,
so has something about you.

Waking Dream

candle ridden vision
please believe
in screwed-drivers and slow painful moaning
seeping sleeping
tight arms and morning earning
light touches behind the blind
over ears and nape of neck
bending and sliding lithe
you have shown me...


I suppose I’ve seen a flying creature
labeled by her eyes that soar around me
She’s let me see her feathers,
though they’re not as sort...

And in pleasant dreams I’m flying too
gliding without effort, though surely
climbing so high is not easy,
and holding wings rigidly straight out
is tiring after a few
circles of the sky.

The clouds are what attract me most
though I know it should be her.
but without her there
to see them too
it would just be the sky
and a sky not quite as blue...

my bird

My bird,
my pretty bird.

Blue feathers.
sitting in a tree
more so I look up to you,
than you would look down on me.

Signs of Brightness

Where dreamers hide
behind the shells of their skulls
with open arms embracing
only the backs of their eyelids, see

signs of brightness
swimming candles and flipping suns on the backs of their thumbs,
tiptoeing lightly or stumbling loudly
you can swallow so much more than
realities choking hairball, at times

spattered windshields on which you are a gnat
become open fields where sky meets you
on the horizon like an old friend.

-+- -+- -+-

If I were to scream
I could watch my sound,
we could play in it together
like waving grasses or the sunrise.


Playing with someone’s Demon
into the tubular sky
where the edges of my vision
are impaired

I saw you there
watched from afar
and then
snuck up behind you
sucking up your ribs
with my fingers
and kissing your soul

I spilled like a fountain

The chains and shackles
that hid a demon’s temper
strained at our joy within each other
for demons know no joy
that they do not despise.

and this demon’s breath was smoke,
and his lungs a depression
the monstrous legs a few harsh words
the chains
our love.

Writhing in jealousy and painful death
the demon cried in angst concern
and slowly withered away
to a pill sized capsule
which we both swallowed
to show we cared not.

But when it grows next time,
it will be inside us
both a blessing and a curse
for some of you is inside as well
and I do not want to hurt that
but at the same time
you will help me fight.

Shouting Sex!

and then we’ll forget
everything, like an acorn field of waiting
reading only poems that shout sex
and the redness often mistaken for
blood that is your skin
and here I thought you were
stronger. When only we
were in eager hands that held
on so tightly that I fell.

What scattered hopes
and amphibious dreams
that tell of long slithering
demons with red eyes
and white backs like slime
and a hand of gewy cream
melting down your palm
I felt the tickle of a drum
pounding like an anvil
you could feel your own breath
when I gave it back to you.

Fingers that are worms
leaving their own taste
behind them, like a star
in a sky of skin
poking holes in a black piece
of paper, maybe wrinkled
rotten, apples at the heart of
a snowy day,

and I felt like it
didn’t matter what with
your hands and I felt like
it shouldn’t have mattered
but your hands...

when a light pierces the night,
that is nothing unusual
but when a light pierces the day,
that is to be admired.


"That secret eating away at me
till my smile melted into tears,
gasping sobs
till I had to spill over,
it’s a different kind of weakness,
strength is."
-Megan Opp

...on being strong enough to hold you all...

Holding pretty flowers
is much different than
holding a bird aloft.
Not that the weight is more,
but flowers cannot fly away.


tell the spring to
shine like the shadows
you rip lazy lust
beneath a flood of
nearly like rain
and the then
that you whisper

Drinking Saliva

dripping from a sloppy kiss
or a tongue offered from above
juicy soft and tantalizing
tasty and sucked upon
what warm sweetness
after blueberry pie


Someone should teach me patience.
I saw a ball in the sky
reached out to touch it
before I knew it hurt
to touch fire,
before I had thought
of the night it would bring,
I pulled it to me
and stuck it in my mouth.


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