in the metallurgy coma you are made of wires, light, electricity and your heart carries an encrypted heat, some storied information hidden in the transmission of your cold necessity. glow like a child sun and begin to become alive, the inevitable coming through even in the far off streams of this endless greed for god,…

i see astronomy in her eyes and i can smell summer in the curls of her hair, those loosely wound ribbons that sweep her shoulders and get wrapped around my fingers. i move from place to place, chasing her through the hours in which she is absent, trying to track her down in some corner,…

i am a dead battery, each alarm a shot of electric shock in to quiet corners of my head. i grow further weary through lack of sleep, no sleep, only moments, short interludes, reboots, not enough to keep this idiot machine moving. a narcotic need to power down, process in smoke, in syrup, alcohol and…

cake and wine, dancing with spirits in the country dark evening, spilling over into the kitchen, smoke and words, reaching an agreement with the dead, sound and shape suspended in this medium. we sit in the trees and scream in eagle dialect, looking to find some rhythm to the day, some lesson from the night.…

keep walking if you must, dear girl, my morals are quite sound inasmuch as morality can make noise and though i smell of resin, caffeine, women and demons i am a man above all and as all men i aim to own the earth and all things contained within it. you will ache for the…

welcome back to use without thought, the endless changing of the television second on second, frame by frame the thousand channel madness that brings days to a slow drawl and nights to a definitive pause, this infomercial insomnia. there’s nothing on, never anything on and we stare, we stare like the dead at this mess…

change color at my command, i’ll haunt the pale shore of your very delicate shoulders, the soft rush of your neck, the ivory tremble of your very neat and very elegant stomach, any place that you allow me to touch. i’ll follow your eyes, your wide and hypnotic glances that are sweet and flammable like…

my hands are stained with grease and everything makes a sound, everything is wet with meaning and i get high and float around, a desert emptiness in city streets, a grit and grime of back and forth, a smear that eventually dries and hardens. -S.C. Martinez

what is it in this that i find so anomalous, so outside the paradigm, that brings me back again and again, every evening, chasing her through my thoughts then catching her in my arms. tracing my fingers down her slender back, the curve of her spine, her skin is so soft it feels dangerous to…

close to the devil in the fire and ether, shaking and hissing, chanting, eyes rolled back, this rhythmic compulsory madness. roiling ink on every page and a cigarette clamped between jagged and angry teeth, a product of this environment divided back into our terminus. the devil lives in vodka and smoke, between tangled sheets and…