“Mad Dogs, Bred for Chaos”

Tyler R. Martin

My grandfather died at 78
A chain smoking alcoholic,
Miserable and strong till his last day.
I watched my dad get hit with a wine bottle,
A big heavy glass fucker, swung like
A billy club right across the dome,
He didn’t go down.
My uncle’s an alcoholic,
Fifty years going strong,
Once took twelve hits of acid,
All at once at a Stones concert.
He still stood.
I got tased twice and punched once
In a scrap with ten cops,
I didn’t go down….
Mad dogs don’t go down easy,
I come from a pedigree of mad dogs.

“The Almighty’s Comic Relief”

Tyler R. Martin

I was suicidal long before I knew
That living was essentially dying.
I craved death from the beginning,
Tried to hang myself with the umbical cord at birth
…..To no avail.
I followed up by jumping off slides at the playground,
Jumping off roofs, out of windows.
Broke my arm twice, but nothing fatal.
The Almighty caught on to this when I was 12;
My appendix burst spilling gangrene
Throughout my body.
This is how I go, I thought, sick and tired
in a hospital bed while the Almighty has his laugh at
Making me wait so long.
And the Almighty did have his laugh, but it it didn’t
Come with my demise.
According to the surgeon, the Almighty had
Blessed his hand, his scalpel and my soul,
All of these blessings allowed the surgeon
To clean up my insides.
I awoke to pain and scars, but I awoke all the same.
Road rage at twenty, screaming at an asshole
From the Carribean in rush hour Manhattan,
Tried to run my Cadillac through a concrete divider.
I was outside my flattened Caddy smoking a cigarette
When the medics arrived, shocked they hadn’t
Driven up on a corpse.
They demanded I seek medical assistance;
By the third increasingly persistent request
I told them in no uncertain terms to fuck right off.
The Almighty once more had his laugh,
Leaving me with not a scratch and a whopping
Auto bill for my troubles.
Booze, pills, tasers, fights, tried them all;
Nothing seems to slow me down;
I feel I’ll live to a hundred, miserable, battered and broken
But not dead, no that’ll be too easy.
I must have been a cruel man in my past life,
Or maybe I’m just the Almighty’s comic relief.

“False Punks and Weekend Drunks”

Tyler R. Martin

Go out don’t get arrested,
Go out and get real drunk.
Rocking to The Clash in your black leather,
Calling yourself a punk.
Then wake up in the morning,
Shave your face and comb your hair,
Shower early the next morning,
Tightening a tie with some “flair”.
It’s the one your mother bought you,
The one with a red black hue,
Then bathe in some cologne,
On Mondays this is what you do.
Then once more it’s a Friday,
You’re leaving work at five,
To once more imbibe imported beer
At the club called “IT’S ALIVE!”
You repeat this on Saturday
And on Sunday night too,
Back to the office on that Monday
‘Cause this is what you do.

“The Bum’s Lament”

Tyler R. Martin

Stroll ’round campus,
February, brisk,
Bukowski under one arm,
Hair wet from an
Ill conceived shower,
Grumbling, having left my
Smokes at home.
’tis not the Army, my man,
A voice whispers,
This is college, this is
Shithead country,
This is beta-males and alpha bitches
Lamenting about the plights of
People they have no want to meet.
This is the land of soy lattes and no
Cigarettes.
I have no need for tofu, guys,
Ty needs nicotine, mainlined if necessary,
Right to the fucking heart,
I don’t wanna talk about the alliance
Of gay and straight people,
Sorry, but I wanna smoke and
Sit quietly. Any takers?
No, then can I bum one?-
Confused stares all around,
Mean like cigarettes?
Sure doll, got one?
No, but I have a flier for blah blah blah…..
Fuck me…..
I hate college, everyone so health
Conscious I’m feeling sick myself,
So righteously political I’m steadily
Leaning more towards anarchism,
This is the bum’s lament,
A true Valentine Smith,
A Stranger in a Strange Land,
Lost and without a smoke.

“The half-assed Method”


Tyler R. Martin


Simplify your life,
Do everything in halves.
Cut potatoes in half
Then cut the halves in halves
Then cut those halves in halves as well.
Eat half your steak now, half later.
Put only a half hearted effort into grammar.
Smoke half a cigarette time,
They last longer that way.
When you’re fucking, stop about halfway through;
Sure, she’ll get mad,
But the second half, about an hour later,
Will blow her mind.
When going somewhere,
Drive about half way, then stop for a piss;
Who fucking cares if you’re late for work.
Try to limit yourself to one half bottle
Of red wine per night.
Boring conversation?
Walk away about half way through.
Only roll your car window down
Half way when smoking,
Stays warmer that way.
Life’s easier in halves,
Hell, I’m even gonna stop writing this poem
Half way through….

“A Drunks Toilet”

Tyler R. Martin

The drunk’s toilet is a battered whore,
A used up coked out booze pickled
Bitch.
Stained and dirty, dingy and dreggy,
Unkempt and ill used.
Her pure white porcelain skin:
Long since bare of its bright sheen
Her plumbing no longer tight and firm
And piping’s pearly hue has lost its gleam.

But she’s always there, she takes the abuse,
Takes the hits her drunk imparts as he lash out
And withstands the foulness which booze induce.
When he’s wasted,wounded, when he’s whitered and
Sick,
She takes the vomit and the dark black shit
She takes it all and never wallows,
Even the strong stinking yellow piss
This too she takes and always swallows.
How did her life come to this?