Piece by Jack Spicer

Jack Spicer, Guest Poet

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What do you think Tokyo looks like from up there?

But shortly thereafter as my brain lay in the toilet,

25,000 feet doesn’t feel so high.

Feel, nothing felt

Fractals coalesce in egg-shaped Mandelbrot set

Which penetrate the confines of the mind.

From the ceiling fan you can see her

Eyes-closed, back arched; she lowly expunges leaving only a shimmer

I can hear the echo of my name reverberating in the marble

Slabs, reminiscent of Socrates and Plato,

Yet like Solzhenitsyn, freely imprisoned in thought.

In backwards speech sh whispers “I’ll see you in 15 years”

If only you could see what Pulaski looks like at night.

Only when your feet are embedded in the dirt do you realize how high you’ve been.

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