follow the cracks in the pavement
to reach an endless destination worth the price
of destiny being written in chalk and called priceless
by auction houses filled with cigar smoke
suffocating in the miasma wallowing
on the felt green table before disappearing
forever
the sound of unraveling thoughts
blinking from one hemisphere of the brain to the next,
as maroon colored nails slice through a green apple
to watch the dead fruit bleed into the
wicker basket, before being devoured
in some unknown, unspeakable manner,
with all that’s salvaged slowly draining out the side
of my head as applesauce becomes brain matter
becomes something i wish i thought of earlier
spent one day in the middle of a corn field
and wondered where all the popcorn went
and why my hands were bleeding
and maybe, possibly, contemplated screaming up at the sky
to beam me up, scottie
so i could look down and design my own crop circle
Fred Aiken Writing 