there’s something molding
in the corner of the room,
and it’s moving,
it’s moving,
it’s crawling closer, focusing on the middle,
not all that photogenic,
but it has its angles,
has its poses,
has its je ne sais quoi,
though after a second, just one quick blink,
there’s
poof
nothing there,
i promise
subconscious thoughts are so hard to keep inoffensive,
I’ll be minding my business, watching television or attempting to read a book,
and then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, without warning, a complete surprise I’d say,
but I get this overwhelming urge to yell out expletives in an empty room
while no one watches or hears or pays attention,
nunca escuchando,
while I become mold on the wall, spreading
Fred Aiken Writing 