Martin’s World
Come and tunnel from
the light into the dark,
the avenue to the sea of deep secrets
past the smiles and heavy drapes,
the yeses, the noes, the indecisives,
the me riding on my own mind
up and down the hills and valleys,
the truths broken into pieces,
picking new ones off the floor,
piecing them into new categories,
turning them into beacons,
placing them inside my heart,
my lookout to my new world
of beauty and mobile truths,
breaking up data into imagines,
flashing lights through the drama
in rebellion against the immobile aire,
pistons stroking at a furious pace,
of mind running ahead of the now,
the archives of yesterday forgotten,
the present becoming future’s menu,
the me inside my poet’s heaven,
my home situated on shifting sand
teetering on the edge of the real,
riding on the pendulum of timelessness,
the me, the one with a wolf in his blood,
whose mind lives in the wilds,
who doesn’t give a damn about academics
nor proper words to be written down,
who listens through his meditations
and discards the words
that don’t touch his heart,
his own school in his busy mind,
the me, the daring one
that lives on his sleeve,
the holy one with his own God inside,
a worshiper in his private church
with one ear toward the Supreme God
and the other toward my God,
me with both our words stuffed inside
clawing to get out,
the me living inside Martin’s World.
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