words

often, when someone speaks to me,
i get lost in the thought of
what it must be like
to not have a mind wrecked by self-mutilation,
obsessive-compulsive fantasies,
an addiction to addictions,
a mind without trenches and gulleys
well worn by the transit
of stoned little messenger molecules
losing their way,
forgetting what they had to say,
exhaling their breath of chemistries.

what it must be like
to enjoy a day with no direction,
rather than chasing abstracts
forever dividing
down the fractal wilderness
of terrible possibilities,
lymph nodes enflamed
with pre-cancerous embers,
blood cell traffic jams
in the great loop.

often, when someone speaks to me,
i find that i haven’t processed a word,
too busy wondering
what it must be like.

S.C. Martinez