6.08 / July 2011

6,000 miles apart, which is more in kilometers.

i’m missing you like as though you lived on the side of a milk carton. i’m dreaming about singing, “if i was your girlfriend,” a wtf? written by prince, to you, while we, ride camels, through the fat middle of a k-mart, in iowa. i’m in this dream that probably happens because grandmothers always die, even mine. i’m copping out again because i don’t have enough money for a ring, but, eventually, i will make you one of those tin foil numbers. i’m having heart palpitations & the size of my heart is that of a watermelon & if i’m lucky, you will eat my seeds until i am not a giant in this world where you live & i am not real. i’m not the shit, but you’re mine: in the non-fecal, romantic way. i’m making a commitment to do many illegal things for you & your love, just in case you pick my number. i’m trying to try hard enough to try harder, but see: i’m pining for you like a douglas fir in a plastic christmas tree factory, so just hold on just a minute & fall in love with me, you: you, oh you.

M.G. Martin is the author of One For None (Ink 2010.) His work has appeared or is forthcoming in ZYZZYVA, elimae, >kill author and Explosion Proof, among others. M.G. lives in Brooklyn with Tess Patalano, the lady poet & Ihu, the lady dog. He once karate chopped Billy Collins in the neck. Find him online at http://www.mgmartin.tumblr.com & @themgmartin.