Another Cigarette

Tyler R. Martin

Light another cigarette,
The world won’t care in the morning,
Just another butt in the ashtray, another
Glob of flem in your lungs.
Light another cigarette,
The dog’s asleep on your couch,
He watches your house and he won’t mind
If you light another cigarette, and
Light one for your girl too before you wake her up
To smoke one with you and maybe crack two beers,
She’ll enjoy that, you know?
Amazing how she sleeps through the music, dog too,
But they’re used to it and a nocturnal man needs his nicotine,
His muses and his music, all at maximum volume.
Light another cigarette and
Type out a poem at two in the morning,
Two in the morning is undoubtedly a poet’s time,
Its unavailable to the cogs of society, so we snach it up
And light another cigarette without the slightest inclination
To go to sleep in the immediate future.
So you finish your beer…then finish hers…
You light another cigarette and look out the window.
If you’re lucky you’ll see the sky and the smoke looks so pretty
Against the star peppered abyss of heaven.
So light another cigarette and sigh,
“Perhaps, if I am lucky,
I’ll do this every night
Until I die.”

“I Don’t Wanna Be Here”

Tyler R. Martin

I was born in the wrong generation.
A lot of people say this, I know,
And perhaps they’re not wrong,
But I can only speak for myself
And I’m quite sure some bureaucrat
Up there in the heavenly abyss
Fucked up my departure time.
I really should have been born in
The Grunge era, or a few years prior
During the Punk Rock boom
Or way way back freezing my balls off
On a Viking cruiser waiting to swing a
Battle ax and rape and pillage.
Any of these would have done nicely.
I exist in a savage age which
Chews up all who do not prescribe
To the malicious zeitgeist of our times.
This is no era for one perpetually bored,
Always and about everything,
And gives no fucks about trends,
His political social standing
Or his own personal appearance.

“In Blissful Fog”

Tyler R. Martin

I’ll express myself in prose
And I won’t take it back,
I’m meaningless by nature
So don’t give me any flack.

Leave me in my fog of bourbon,
Let me embrace an inner peace
And sink into sullen solitude
Allowing all worry to cease.

To avoid the daily drudgery
And to spiral down so deep,
Existing only in my psyche
And the bliss of solemn sleep.

Let me sit secluded and silent
To ponder with purpose as I smoke,
Indulging in brief painless pleasure
Before returning to a life without hope.

“Sick Sick Sickness”

Tyler R. Martin

And you, sickness,
You vile disease,
You came to me as liberation,
Came to me as I bid escape
From the doldum of pointless
Efforts which one
Grows to accept
And those enlightened few
Choose to expel.
But not all those
Trapped in the hellish winter of life
Cling to you so ardent as did I.
Some bask in family, meditation
Homelessness,
Social security…
I unfortunately am not enlightened enough for
Such a conquest.
My basking occurs in sickness,
I relish in my own mortality,
My frown is my subtle grin,
I indulge in drudgery.
My whiskey, my beer, my wine
Are my family,
Intoxication, my meditation
My existence, my pointlessness,
My sickness,
Are my life in summation.

“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….