wine yeast,
anaerobic fermentation,
carbonic maceration,
words that look fancy on a label
but mean very little,
or at least i think they mean very little,
then again,
i didn’t do all that well in chemistry,
or biology,
or school, period,
period
in the endless void of hyperspace,
i am lost, adrift,
a mere trace of my former self,
mind set to blurry status
as the stars streak past in a frenzied whir
i am suspended in a cosmic dance with no way out,
no hope; no chance; no escape
this eerie realm,
and oh, by the way, this isn’t related,
but we’re also out of coffee
waking up at 5am
in a vacuum of my own creation,
as a series of receptors try firing up
and adenosine lulls me into a
false sense of security,
it might be best to try and chug some coffee,
take a salt tablet,
and walk this feeling off
Fred Aiken Writing 