Fred Aiken Writing

the winter of exploding teeth enters through the back door
and wanders through the empty hallways to collect the necessary accouterments

to make the festivities all the more festive fun relaxing
as cavities morph into daydreams of forgotten
halcyon memories entangled

by the mess of drool waterfalling down onto an unclean pillow
dream catching fragments of molars and bicuspids left out for a winged mythos come to exchange
green paper for what once was and will never be