words

move like gnats in orbit,
a heart of little winged things
in the dim light of now,
aimless, at odds with the trajectory
we have calculated for to follow.

the rats and the liars
move in together, a common agony,
tracing a skittering mecca
along baseboards and behind walls,
in the dark places
where we are not meant to gather.

in the light scattered mess,
the city trembles and hums
and we get lost in this,
grids of beggars and junkies,
watchers and monsters
like childhood paranoia
come back at last real and deep
to haunt the eternity,
the certainty of getting older.

they say overcome, endure,
but they are dull and sterile
and we restless and potent,
profound, built for this purpose
we can know no other way,
isolation and addiction
the common truce between us
and if i had a cup of poison
i would share it with you.

-S.C. Martinez