excerpted from David Tomas Martinez’ poem,
“The Cost of it All“
And I know as we age our tongues grow numb from lying.
And I know in chronological and alphabetical order, nothing.
And I know riding in an elevator is a close as one can get to the present.
And I wish upon a pan with a skiing square of butter headed for steam.
And I wish to tiptoe and hear over the fence of my own teeth.
I have tried to figure the cost of it all with lint and paperclips.
