upping my meds

by jhon baker

speed of sound interrupted

There is no thought predominantly in my concussed brain that merits posting. Sitting within a college building, I feel none of the inspiration of youth, knowledge, beauty, and unbridled idealism that college campuses are attributed.


But there is tinny piano echoing down the hall, there are operatic voices with indefinable words ornamenting the stabbed out notes on the piano and sung by children somewhere between the ages of 7 and 15.


word is correcting my grammar while I type at the speed of sound.


the speed of sound interrupted by corrections as if I were on the salt flats in wet season.


I am wearing no helmet and the parachute is dysfunctional.


wet salt gets into everything like play sand.




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