working through a new theory
with coffee flowing through my veins,
clogging thoughts on verdant fields
burned down by budding blue lights lit
aflame by hydrogen-infused everything
created and destroyed by the same molecular structure
until it’s built anew,
taken down,
remade,
rebranded,
and sold back to me with delight and smile,
nod and accept
can I insert my credit card number to be heard,
pay here,
to hear,
something important,
something worth while,
but now that you’ve paid,
and squared that away,
I don’t know what to say,
please,
accept this refund,
don’t complain
spiraling through a thralling network of interconnected
neurons sparking out of control
through a billow of smoke building over the horizon,
placed in a jar,
rolled up,
telling the ocean my secrets that I can never hold onto,
as plastic alchemy changes rivers into saunas into gardens
with fresh snap peas, blueberries, and pesticides placed on a plate
and eaten for what purpose I shall never speak of
Fred Aiken Writing 