words

burn like van gogh,
fire like fire
and flame of flame,
the skin crawls
like curling smoke
and there is only,
only the sitting through it
like ritual atonement.

the slow toil
of skin on paper,
the rush of magnetic words
pulling heart and head
toward its centrifugal force,
spinning night on night
around some fevered reckoning
not understood at this now,
powerless but to follow
for fear of combustion.

i practiced with sad songs
and mixed feelings,
years in the company
of blue efforts
and low mercy,
agony spilling forth
from out these rapid eyes
and in through outward behavior,
fighting against all logic
the threat of peace
and the act of contrition.

-S.C. Martinez