Martin Kalanda Artist Portfolio
Martin Kalanda Artist Portfolio

POAM Secondary Titles


Fuck these chains, okay? Choking on ink and smoked women’s strength he is overwhelmed by the immense support and thick solitude.  Any darker and the illusion will be betrayed.



Arched in smoke and wrapped in games sip back and love these eyes fuck the noise, fuck the lips, fuck all these politics.



Today was a good day blowing and reloaded with scratches in my ears and feet to make me lucky even lost like faces dripping while waiting for it all to happen again.



The blades cut ahead of wings, air flowing through crushed beer cans waving over longing lips.  Pacified by broken deception the feeling holds new though felt so many times before, reborn to see it all happen again for the first time.



Nights so dark it’s as if a cloud of dust blocked the sun you reach and pray for the shroud to break through but this is the new normal.  This is a time when sheltered lashes grab for anything they can.



Taking from behind and waiting for a final bellow arms stretched grasping holding wishing for forever to never end. These bodies will end one day and their language will fuck and flow for days in falling wind swept sheets.



This foley makes me question every sound stepping back baking and sliding with reflections in the horses eye while idiots scream and sanity looks on stoic and tells you put on your trunks and get in the pool.



Dreams hover silently like drones fighting the streets of Paris but more often than not these failed ideas slip the tongue like Dylan’s voice or my heart each time a beautiful woman melts into the drains of memory.



The last flight to Brooklyn left with an unattainable interest rate.  She hoped for the birth to end all this shit but then the next reality shifted down further past the slopes and the fields where the pony road rods and the old woman wished for more regrets.



You look a mess but the least of your amputated worries have come true.  Palms read holes halfway across all these lips and all you can think about is how can I fail when it’s so easy to relax.



She can’t help but look down on you from her parachute.  Torn wings rolled over by treads with a percentage only the many could know.  Yet they each buy what they can’t want and they each complain that some have succeeded because of it.  Don’t worry too much, it’s a waste of your old age.



It’s simple when all you have to do is break down walls like donuts with too much ambition.  Subways can go there and so can the love of a first born cast iron reach.  Remember the question.



Air out and rest with long nights sleeping waiting for bodies to clash.  Bringing it home is easy when you’re that good. Next to impossible for the rest of us.



Dancing with bottles sipping pirouettes hands down this odyssey gives all it can from sea creatures to men trying to find a new addiction.



Smoked cash paid for the bend while the sky bleed just drops on drops.  It’s as if flocks could care less about chance and thermals.



Back and forth the latest and greatest swings and puts layers past layers in ways that only you can have.



Even assholes give birth. We act like beasts are majestic when they piss like the rest of us.  You will be old one day but young girls will always be young and armies will always be ready to avoid peace at all costs.  Best to turn your back.



Watch the era end like one last kiss you didn’t know would never return. Lines were crossed but in the end watching a sunset through the tangled mess hanging from a drug dealers canopy would only lead to the inevitable.