Richard Martin is the author of DREAM OF LONG HEADDRESSES: POEMS FROM A THOUSAND HOSPITALS, WHITE MAN APPEARS ON SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA BEACH and NEGATION OF BEAUTIFUL WORDS. His recent poems have appeared in ACM; Exquisite Corpse; Fell Swoop; and the anthologies: ALOUD: VOICES FROM THE NUYORICAN CAFE and AMERICAN POETS SAY GOODBYE TO THE 20th CENTURY. For fourteen years (1982-1996), he coordinated the ALPS program in Binghamton, N.Y. and hosted the Big Horror Poetry Series. He is a certified elementary/middle school principal. Awards for his poetry include a National Endowment for the Arts fellowship. He currently resides in Boston, Massachusetts.
Airport Poem
Headaches in the drawers of time 
Quick babies running through airports 
have curly-blue souls 
Without pen or consciousness 
I wait for the birds of love

Three shoes   two touchdowns   a memory
Sounds in my head 
like carpenters pounding nails 
into videos 
I'm a whirlwind of experience 
Resumé with orange sauce on it

My narrative begins with a loss of identity 
I don't know the body 
The doctor looks through a magnifying glass 
at the wart above my eyebrow 
and writes "seborrheic keratosis" 
on a pad of paper with his address

Newspapers report the loss of ozone 
I'm melting like wrong attitude wax feathers 
It's no use to talk of a Wilderness of Malls 
Fingertip skills of the next century 
How it will be possible to click on computers 
and delete genes not to our liking 
off DNA molecules