forgotten words hit compressed lips searching for the meaning in an orderly fashion
in search of a definition lost with the Dewey Decimal System
as fall branches write the curvature of the world in broken glances to the stars
bespectacled in sunglasses so the brightness doesn’t blind the night sky
fervently waiting for a peace of mind sitting at the end of the rainbow as the tale comes
to an end and writes itself off. STAGE RIGHT
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
the war path of childhood etches itself into skin
that never wants to fully heal
and looks sunburned whenever examined up close
what could be melanoma, but i’m no doctor
i think, though, that it should probably be look at rather than covered
up in long sleeves soaked in someone else’s blood
dripping down the sidewalk where skateboards pile high
into a mangled pyramid reaching out to an undefined zenith
pointing feverishly at power point slides meant to capture youth
and show the future, or a past
riding as fast and demurely as possible down a hill that redefines gravity
until the moment stops…and bones tear asunder
Fred Aiken Writing 