words

i have encountered again the panic,
the residual fear that hangs about
and it brings me to a howl,
loud and cold and alone, naked, shivering,
again terrified of what each moment brings.

it follows me like an instinct,
through hallways and down highways
and across states and in to cities,
through the tangled mess of cars and arms
it comes like a virus, like a storm,
like some murder close of blood.

and so i must consume, devour,
give back to the night
some vestige of what i once was,
and so i dance with devils
and women with bullet hole hearts
and those without any heart at all,
women made of steam
like phantoms of industrial automation,
and so i dance with the panic
hour round hour to get closer
to that which must ultimately
bring me to some end
and as i move further away from home
the shadows grow long on the road
and my heart knows only sorrow.

-S.C. Martinez