words

i listen to the low hum of all the things we own
and i want them to stop, everything to cease,
all motors whir to an end and
be still and quiet and cold,
blend in with the silence and the night.

i want the dark, i want the sun,
fire, effigies and lightning spider veins,
water on gasoline and the pounding
of fist on stone, a heart beat in rock formations,
feet in the dirt and new stars burning
where city lights once bloomed.

i want my sleep to be vulgar in its finality
and only disturbed by nearing predators,
passing spectres on their way to some other poem,
i want to measure the days by heart
and weather the nights both stoic and mean,
with grit teeth and caged fire eyes
collecting the gloom like fireflies
to quiet this dumb maniac within.

-S.C. Martinez