bone scrapes twisting
joints in motion
while fleshy eyeballs
sink further into sockets
watch watch
hear the soft tick of the pen
rubbing against malleable tissue
sponge pushing further into itself
burning and fleeing and faltering
imagine what could be next
then it is
set motions enthralled with repetitive
tasks while flying past
sensors
carefully placed to ensure nothing too fast
nothing too slow
s p e e d makes mellow motions
feel imbalanced as the asphalt
turns light into dust across an infinite unnamed unspecified series of repeatable regrets spelled out in the ash of burnt oak
settled in
and waiting
Fred Aiken Writing 