words

loneliness is easier,
with the leaves, the empty room,
the silence.

little yellow pills collide
within the id
and disintegrate,
integrate with the molecular traffic
and off swiftly to what narrow streets
of grey matter call,
here, these circuits are native,
these patterns are familiar.

when everyone knows everything
there will be nothing left to talk about.

the echo of our own thoughts
so impressive
we must spray them
over wifi and cellular clouds
so that all may bask
and breathe this collective mist
of networked quanta.

-S.C. Martinez