laying flat on the ground while an invisible spin
shapes over my periphery
and grabs hold of my vision, a blur of objects
blending into one another,
awkwardly running into each other,
until the horizon looks frozen in time,
a still life pointed out and confirming
how much i need new glasses
if i forget what to say,
forget what to write,
lose thought, train floating off into ether,
then sometimes i smack my head against
a wall; nothing real hard,
but the room where i do most of my poetry writing
has a lot of holes in the drywall
that i’m too distracted to fix//
don’t know how to fix, either way
hangul graffiti hung neon in a floating sky
made from acetylene clouds swimming above
in a whirlwind of fie-ry breaths made=
to look like an accident, but it’s not
actually all that accidental;
in fact, one might say that lighting the night sky
on fire was on purpose,
i know i certainly would
Fred Aiken Writing 