words

one discernible star
in this city, unremarkable,
tame as all others,
only one visible from this
sad collection of wasted souls,
this mess of tangled peoples.

one dimly lit star,
fading softly a million years on,
breathing deep the cosmic breath
of this ridiculous scheme,
the sound of tires burning
and the scent of sweat
and longing for acceptance,
the loud yelps like lesser beings
struggling to acclimate themselves
to a higher order,
one devoid of reason or conclusion,
a cyclic travesty of want,
of looking for.

perhaps this is an old soul
far beyond the need of company,
far beyond the longing,
adrift among an ocean of drunks
looking for some reason,
some cause to exist,
to ponder their cause
in the silken casing
of poet dreams,
scribbling lines
and breathing haggard breaths.

watch them now,
this conglomerate of terrible kids,
all so condemned to an aversion
of normalcy, of mediocrity,
walking the streets in drunken fatigues
because that is unique,
that gives you character.
tattoos and gauged ears,
watch the women go walking on the sidewalks
with their wild swagger
but when they turn,
through their eyes you can see
monstrous hearts aching in the heat
that radiates from so much contact,
they are dead long before
this transient vessel betrays them.

scratch out a living
beneath the endless scowl
of poverty,
here the gods go by
trailing their wares
in worn brown sacks,
bedecked with every manner
of heartache,
every broken promise,
shadowed by a caravan
of jars that clank and rattle
over the rocky gravel roads
as they pass, each jar
within them a madness
banging against the glass
like light weary moths,
a glowing ember
of erratic and harmful behavior.

watch them go,
the trail behind
like perforated lines
on the earth’s skin
and the turning commits them
to forever and cosmic eyes
bear witness to these migrant salesmen
and their dusty tired offerings,
each a replica of the one before
as if all were crafted
by a singular agent of piousness.

do not dig in their wake
for things left behind
for there are none,
do not embark
upon your own intrepid enterprise
for you are only mortal residue,
do not search for meaning
in this or any other thing
for there is none to be found.

-S.C. Martinez