Martina doesn't laugh.
It's for the imbecilic, she says,
who have nothingimportant to say.
But it wasn't always
that her lips were like those of afish being sold
frozen in a bed of ice
Martina is disgusted bytears.
The sea churning in her cobalt eyes is icy
and refuses to melt forthe sake of emotion.
It wasn't always
that her eyes looked likebolts
cold iron that secured a nothingness in place
I don't want love,Martina says.
Even if she doesn't know what love is
she scorns thosefoolish enough to drift into clouds.
It wasn't always
that her heart was ametronome
ticking a monotony though no song was playing to it
and I mournfor Martina.
When my lips are warm from laughter
when feelings cause atrickle soft upon my cheek.
I mourn for Martina
and wonder when itwas
she died.