i ate a thumbtack,
but it didn’t go down as smoothly as i hoped,
which is probably why i’m at the hospital right now,
writing a dumb poem about
eating sharp objects ripping my intestines
apart
stacked wooden pallets in the back of the warehouse,
housing desires of termites scurrying through the grooves of meditating wood
that splinter into thousands of pieces as they decay
into a thick vapor that seems to cover everything
once its gone
a frenchman served me a cup of coffee
while vaping and puffing out watermelon-raspberry scented smoke
in little shapes that seemed like they were pretty impressive,
but i also see shapes in clouds,
so it could be all the work of the vapor, i don’t know,
the jury, or in this case, the frenchman
is still out
Fred Aiken Writing 