words

there is no parallel to the horrors
held within familiar neuronal roads
that lead back to birth,
the first lines fired and the fates that formed
are strange and large decades on.

i am a poet first
and a failed human thereafter,
well versed in mimicry
and vouyerism,
watcher of other threads
unwinding in this present loop.

would that god come claim this,
this that is i some wandering minstrel,
deaf to the sounds of earth,
proud and plagued by indifference;
bored of the signals so familiar,
afraid of those unknown.

-S.C. Martinez