words

at the same time,
god and we meet.

upon the awakening,
when the self is born,
molecular hands assemble
through the mess of organization
the scaffold that of this creature,
a being greater than the sum
of its very orderly parts,
grinding away at the local universe,
enduring the regulatory storms,
the systemic panic
and here it is that i realize
drinking pinot in the toilet
is the closest i will ever come
to achievement.

i grow tired, belligerently so,
by the pacing of tests,
interviews, moral dilemmas,
interpersonal interactions,
4-way traffic stops,
grocery lines,
avoiding eye contact,
hiding underneath
digital overpasses,
trying to stay at the edge
of the people soup.

what little art we begin with,
unless nurtured and exercised,
withers into this terribly ineffectual
but desperately needy
self-indulgent
bullshit.

but it feels good to type
to a rhythm
that is my own.

look forward,
why not,
and pretend like we don’t all notice
that creeping tremble
of an unsteady gait toward
that at last indivisible thing.

-S.C. Martinez