words

i have become accustomed to
a sharp pain in my jaw
and in my neck that creeps in
whenever i smoke
and i know it is death
or some idiot cousin of
attempting to gain residency.

my question is now
where did these little words go,
where have they gone on to
that they are nearly impossible to catch
and re-arrange in to some fitting mimic
of my thoughts, are they gone
for the rest of these terminal nights,
did the smoke drive them away?

i must stalk them now,
i watch their shadows move
and i draw reference from this
to follow and to capture,
to drag them back and push them
through the tips of my fingers
where sometimes they live,
and sometimes they are smushed
between skin and black plastic keys,
sometimes they are drown in ink
and sometimes they are dead from the start.

what is this if not the death of things,
failure, they have left for more suitable men
with greater hearts and stranger eyes,
men who carry steel in their blood
and death in their pockets,
men who do not fear smoke,
men who do not fear auto accidents
and climbing interest rates,
bad weather and withering families,
men who are not tethered to earthly bonds
and do not wait for the words
but grab them from the air
and bleed them of their secrets,
men who eat bullets and drink gasoline,
men who shit pain and say fuck the words.

-S.C. Martinez