burning lumps of coal
in my shoes that send a stinging sensation all throughout my body,
but it doesn’t feel all that bad whenever i hum the melody
to the mcdonnie’s commercial and pretend that i’m
an x-(wo)man fishing in the middle of an abandoned,
radioactive,
pond, while gargoyles fly above me like bees in a kicked nest
living in a cardboard box
with daily habits of playing in a jungle gym
without any rules,
while searching for preguntas that look abstract
when their corners are cut off,
and i’m missing a thumb
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
Fred Aiken Writing 