words

nothing can touch me here,
i lick vodka from a wet glass
and burn medicine that toils
in my throat, in my lungs,
in my blood and in my head.

her hollow bones sing
a birdsong far off and light,
a dream, a lie, a distraction
against the slow comedown
from this very brief apex.

i want to be rid of this lesson,
i want to be quit of this place
and go back to the evening rise up,
the momentum that crests and breaks
at the changing of the guard,
the brief turnover wherein god
in his holy fatigue closes a tired eye
and is blind to the comradery that exists
with the demons i work so diligently
to bury in the day, in the light.

come at me with your reasons,
your criminal obsession
and watch this fire wither and wane,
tremble and choke and pulse
the slow antibeat of death,
watch this lesson be rid of you,
watch this place turn liquid
and unpleasant to be in,
watch me quietly exit
back in to a dream you dreamt long ago.

-S.C. Martinez