words

the city takes small bites from my heart
and so i find myself drinking gasoline
and pissing engine coolant on the side of the interstate,
drifting across the road like sand in the wind,
fragmented and coalescing here and there
then breaking apart again to spread myself out,
to cover as much distance as possible
before i must disappear back to the desert
from which my origins lay claim to.

i descend upon the country like a heathen
and on the margins of these rural highways
dead dogs lie sideways, bloated and stiff,
cooking in the late summer sun
and here the plans are laid bare,
a weekend to put blood back in these arms,
days of mineral deposits and fossils,
nights filled with needs as old as the earth.

in the evening of my advent i am wise,
heavy-lidded and stretched out in the sunset,
hand in the lake and head in the clouds,
breathing deep the endless breath of life
and hoping against all evidence to the contrary
that i may never die, that i may live forever
among the weeds and the crooked tree limbs,
the gravel roads and slanted old houses,
my sins forgiven, or at the very least ignored.

gathering steam at the coming of night,
the darkness puts diamonds in my eyes
and smeared lipstick sends chemical warheads
rushing through the narroways of my blood,
i carry secrets in my pockets
and i must take what is not mine to have,
a dark haired damsel with envy in her eyes
and arms wrapped in art, spinning the night
like a spider with lust in her heart,
click-clacking her heels
against the antique stone of existence,
she grinds away the hours with her hips
and crushes the sadness between her tits,
burying the night beneath sweat and money,
she takes another turn around
and then sweeps my dollar from the ground.

vinegar in my lungs and rum on my lips,
barreling down the road in the darkness
trailing red lights and mad laughter,
close calls and odd circumstances
guide me safely in where i sit in the dark
and relegate emotion to the lesser parts of me,
the parts no one can see, drifting in and out of sleep
where i dream of purple horses and brunettes
of murderous intent, dark eyed beauties
who steal the night with their charm
and their knowledge of its inner workings.

i awake each morning with guilt in my stomach
that i must dispel and this day is no different,
i redact some suitable version of events
to present as a brief history of my time
and then i am on the road, splitting borders
between the tread of my tires,
leaving an etching of my presence
for lovers to fall in love with,
driving home hungry in order to make it home at all.

-S.C. Martinez