Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: reading

visual evaporation

when i was in preschool,
a rumor got spread around that if you read for 48 hours straight,
no break, no meals, no sleep,
then your eyes would either
a) pop out of your skull and kids could kick them around like bouncy balls
or b) your eyes would melt, along with the rest of your brain, and you’d be the eyeless, brainless
kid of the 21st century wandering the halls in search for nothing because you could no longer see,
neither of which are reasons why i don’t read enough books now that i’m adult
that can reason that those childhood rumors were just that,
though no matter how many new years resolutions i make,
i can’t seem to read all that much,
so i guess i’ll just pretend that my eyes might evaporate if i read more than a sentence at a time

READING ISN’T ALWAYS A WALK IN THE PARK

molten lava pours outta my ears as I try to find equilibrium

in the fluorescent lights 

brightening a dull day while reading a book 

that doesn’t make much sense to me,

but i have my spanish dictionary with me, so

hopefully the story is en espanol

Posted in the Annals of Dusty Shelves and Forgotten; A Writer’s Bookshelf

nestled amidst the hush

an obsolescent nook, repose a miscellany of careless reminders

parchment is beset with an aureate hue, a testament to the unrelenting march of invisible boots

bound tomes, safeguarded chronicles, untold and uncharted and unseen

a yearning to be unsealed, to be pored over and revitalized, persists as an ephemeral murmur, echoing the hope that one day they shall be emancipated from their forlorn stupor