Guy Martyn is a writer and Headteacher. Helped set up a Free School, but with all the best intentions. Has studied Literature, Drama, Psychology, Mysticism and Religious Experience and is training in Psychotherapy. Has work forthcoming in the Crank Magazine.
The Economic Problem of Masochism
Write all over my clothes until the clothes are words.
Erase my face yet say that I look good.
Obviate my email just call me @.
Make me sing all my secrets in a nursery voice
until the children prefer to be lost.
Tell me I am all suffix now.
Throw my name at a windfarm and sow it in the ground
crush the seedlings with your voice.
Handcuff the handcuffs to themselves.
Like winter wants autumn to strip it hard this time.
Like the cresting whale dies longer in the sky.
Hold your fist to my face like a wasp to a window.
Make a fetish of nothing and prefer it to me
meet it on dates and the back of your car
stroke it and pour all my gold in its jaw
place its hands through your chest its key in your blood
unlock the lock silent like a whisper in grass
rub it in ways that can’t possibly harm.
The idea of the bird in the mind of the pollen.
This is the ending so you won’t let it come
pleasure best unearned.
And here I am
the credit shot.
© Guy Martin
Me Acting Hard
me acting hard in the role of sildenafil / tadalafil / a part I was born to fill / you acting scared
/ no you acting like you care / you acting in the role of want / me practicing my moans in the
mirror / you acting the one who apple bobs / but doesn’t feed / I’ll get you there played by /
no let me take over / I’m tired of this game just roll over / listen as I spank it out of you / I’m
just acting concerned / self-hatred in the role of tenderness / inadequacy performs
dissolving into you / you turn on your side distressed / that all you do is meat for critique /
crunching forward elbows on knees / searching for the better view from this red plush /
mid-circle seat writing your review / like this mid-pause mid-brain / associated with vision
hearing arousal / crushed fabric and the smell of / broken china working its magic / mid-
arousal write your opening hook line / the dreamwork of the shaman / actor who sends us
waking into / our pain in public so we may / work to get the loneliness of dreams right
the day before
© Guy Martin
Midweek Meal Planner
Tuesday anyway it’s Tuesday and orange-spit streetlight
roundshoulders you down the week
over plates slackjawed at handing over the burning
leftover edges of crackerbread pizza and blackeyed eggs again
lovingly Mum bars all entry to the kitchen so you sit
in the dock in the jury room in the cockeyed glint of
everyone who’s ever watched the little lost hours of the
dead menu of their life cartwheel away and never come back
© Guy Martin