MG Martin’s, “6,000 Miles Apart, Which Is More In Kilometers” appears in the online July issue. It is amazing. Here, he answers these wonderful questions about various things.
1. What are you living on the side of?
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First, I would like to express my gratitude not only to God, but, to Jesusâ€¦
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Â 2. Why not miss someone in centimeters or nanoseconds?
Because I canâ€™t count that high or long. Donâ€™t worry, more is revealed later in the interview. Next question.
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3. What fruit is made out of your heart?
The kind that tastes like drunk mouth when you are too sober for the music. The kind that tastes like the disappointment following the phrase, â€œWhen I grow up I want to beâ€¦â€ The kind that isnâ€™t, but could be, if fruit were allowed to grope blind Seeing EyeÂ® dogs. The kind that tastes like wet glass. The kind that contains chemicals known to the state of America to cause birth canals or other reproductive machinery. The kind that wears its confidence on a sleeve of doubt. The kind that tastes like claustrophobia in a submarine on the last Sunday morning, ever. Richard Brautigan fruit. The kind that was born in California, grew up in Hawaii & lives in Brooklyn, without an idea of what it is doing. M.G. Martin fruit, of course.
4. Who is “6,000 miles apart…” for?
Real Talk (A Poetâ€™s Movie): A few years ago, I met the electric Tess Patalano. (WARNING: SPOILER ALERT: Tess Patalano stitches words together like â€˜whoaâ€™ & will be contributing poetry to the September issue of PANK.) At the time, we were living together in San Francisco. We both wanted to become poets who were paid millions of dollar bills to write, so, we decided it would best to move to New York. However, Tess flew eastward a couple of months before I did because of a job opportunity. CUE MELANCHOLIC VIOLIN MUSIC & PABLO NERUDA VOICEOVER. Tragic, alone & looking like a bad manuscript, I was walking through Golden Gate Park one morning, when the line, â€˜iâ€™m missing you like as though you lived on the side of a milk carton,â€™ appeared in the front part of my brain. The rest I donâ€™t remember. I eventually made it to New York & now do most of her dishes. The End.Â Â Â
5. How are you pining for me?
Like an anabolic steroid in a world of miniature chess pieces, because Iâ€™m just an empty checker board, who will never utter: check mate, baby. Like the definition of the word â€˜yearnâ€™ in a place where languages are mute. Like a junkie in a nunnery. Like a painter with no hands who can only paint reflections. Like Wall Street on a poetâ€™s salary during a clichÃ© recession. Like a ghost whoâ€™s house has been demolished. Like an unemployed copy writer for just one dangling participle. Like Mr. Rogers for a neighbor. Because you are my friend & we enjoy the same kind of sandwich.Â Â Â
6. Isn’t eating your seed hazardous?
Not if the person you pine for is a giant with a heart made out of a watermelon. Then it is ok. It is not advisable to eat the seeds of a scorpion. Mainly, because scorpions donâ€™t have seeds & you will be very close to death if you are holding a scorpion to your mouth. I once tried to tongue kiss a scorpion under an avocado tree. Avocado seeds are too big for your throat, so, donâ€™t do that either. But, yes, if you eat your own seed in public you will be quickly put into the hole. & you know who lives in the whole? M.G. Martin & he eats all kinds of f-word-ing seeds. Thanks, PANK.