words

bored and dirty,
i wish i could play piano
and clean up my act.

slow thoughts, slow movement,
eyes closed for moments strung together
with threads of smoke,
my hands will never cease.

i’d like a drink, thank you,
but i’d not move now for any thrist,
not for blood,
not for love,
float here alone and quiet, very quiet.

the television says nothing,
it is blue and impassive,
the telephone rests,
you ponder my sanity
but i will tell you,
i will tell you all things are relative,
none more so than this.

i feel brilliant but know better,
still, it all belongs to me now,
this moment and all moments alike,
the sun has gone from me at my request,
and the moon is likely dead somewhere
over the ocean,
the waves are still before the fear,
the shoreline panic that i have put there
for a change, bored of the common way,
tired of the same faces
and the same words
and sounds and skies and roads,
i have built my own
and i have seen through god’s eyes,
i have writ this place
before it was ever read,
close your eyes,
close your eyes,
close them before the moment passes
or someone takes it away.

-S.C. Martinez