words

the yellow slant of morning light
spills through the fold, filtered
and off-color, a strange rhythm
to the day, dreams of shifting faces
and backward logic a precursor to
what will come to pass in the world
of the living, what has long been known
to the keepers of the other.

so much depravity,
it’s hard to know how i feel of it all.
i will never die, i will live forever
among the stark contrasts of will and purpose,
person and spirit, man and monster,
hidden from the sun yet naked before the moon,
howling some primitive lament,
upward that pale face of indifference.

comfort now the enemy, comfort the sacrifice,
with or without logic, comfort must fail,
the tragedy of it all is somehow still amusing.

-S.C. Martinez