ISSUE 3 · FALL 2009
Copyright © 2009 Michael James Martin | The Earth Suit MICHAEL JAMES MARTIN
I was born in a cummerbund made of placenta stitched by a god’s needle with embryonic polyblend—I began how all suits end, as a button waiting for uncaught reflections. A macrobit’s attribute given a half fraction’s thought though the button makes the whole suit reconnect itself to itself. And without it comes to mind Joni Mitchell’s Yellow Cab. I entered this ballroom blinded by light, throatful of fluid, body pulsated by audio-cracks, worried years later about the state of my being beneath the flesh of this earth suit. This aged rental this moth’d thing’s left lapel bulges a serious symmetrical error you can retailor but not fix. Every cup I drink from is spiked to recess depression’s impress. I don’t always feel well dressed. keep tugging at orphan strands, methodically undoing organic material some would call atom central. Quark express. I want to be unfriezed, undone, undressed, left with nothing except my true flesh: condensed energy pocketed into an already-made outfit of nebulas. |
Michael James Martin writes in English but wishes to expand. Previous work appears or is forthcoming in BlazeVOX, Mythium Literary Journal, and The Benefactor Magazine. His manuscript-in-progress is titled juggling chainsaws.