words

in a crooked house with crooked teeth,
a bad heart and paper skin
you watch the presence of specters
with their vapor trails
go ambling through the yard.

sleep for hours, sleep for days
and ignore the skittish infection
rifling through your brain,
bury old ideas in the dark
and listen for the remote insect lullabies.

waste away, the shell of before
now peels away slowly, piece by piece,
the trees rise like unearthed bones
to an overhang of evolutionary birthright,
what else is there, what else should there be
and the stomach eats itself
like a horse consuming a horse.

the clocks breathe out seconds
and ever so often their pulses meet
and everything is slightly askew,
this crooked house with its crooked inhabitants
and the ghosts of old men
peering curiously through the stained and broken windows.

-S.C. Martinez