words

i’m so tired, so tired,
i sleep 10 hours and still
i’m unbearably slow, rolling
out of bed and crawling
into the shower, scolding
hot water for 20 minutes
turning dead skin to steam
and still i can’t wake up,
i dream little dreams of waterfalls
and soap bubble spaceships
while the stink and grime
from last night runs down my legs
and collects in a shallow mess
at the base of the tub,
swirling flat galaxies of filth and waste,
i press my face against the tile
and sleep for a few more minutes
but still i’m so tired.

i drive to work at 70 miles an hour,
weaving in and out of traffic,
wishing death upon those who
do not understand the subtleties
of traffic, the narrow corridor brotherhood
of getting from one place to the next
as quickly as possible,
not driving 10 miles below the speed limit,
moving OVER when the person coming up behind you
is clearly gaining, gaining, now slowing,
inches away from your bumper because you
won’t MOVE OVER,
the dance with highway patrol radar sweeps,
the quick kick to the brake
when that black and white presence
is conjured out of the gray skin of the road,
i move through these facts at the same speed
despite my terrible fatigue.

i sit in a very comfortable chair, black fake leather,
a high back and it leans
with the weight of my drooping eyes,
i can see now little angels, pearly,
phosphorescent with their little wings
riding on little antelopes
pulling my eyelashes down, dragging my eyelids
down, tiny michelangelos
painting thin red nerves
against the whites of my eyes,
i nod and my head snaps back, then forward,
eyes wide for a moment, back then forward
eyes wide for a moment, i want to sleep for days
within the red house of fluvoxamine,
the calm ease with which it removes
my wild and uncontrollable characters,
the hemingways, the pollacks,
and replaces them with slow witted idiots,
men with no spirit who hide behind sweater vests
and picket fences and i grow tired
even of this expenditure and i wish only to sleep.

-S.C. Martinez