My palms in my pockets jingle
the keys to my cave as I make
my way to wherever I’m going.
My legs propel me, and my feet
dodge cast-off gum and dog dung.

And on my head rests a fishbowl.

An extra load on my skull,
but I don’t mind. I rather
like this bowl. It gives me
a barrier, and though thin,
the glass has yet to crack.

I hear my voice resound,
bouncing around the tiny
space, and I smell my breath,
minty fresh and foggy, and
through the fog the world and
its creatures are phantoms.

When I’m addressed, it’s like
floating in frigid freshwater
as they call for me from
the sheet of ice above.
They suspect I’ve lost
my soul in the fishbowl,
yet as year after year
goes by, I feel just fine.

I am an astronaut taking
a space walk, drifting around
and watching the universe
unfold under a sheet of glass.

And when I close my eyes,
I am in a womb, or a coffin,
and I often can’t tell the
difference, nor find much
of a reason to tell.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow

i miss you and you aren’t even gone yet.

Glistening in the sun
Light-hearted. A release. Fun.
Gliding along. Riding the wind. Drifting. Soaring.
A magical orb, transporting you back to a childhood
So carefree. So happy. So easy.
Floating, without a care in the world.
A moment of pleasure. A moment to treasure.
The freedom. Serenity. Complete lack of responsibility.

Of a bubble

Drifting forward hard
drifting toward car
lifting off the tar
near a shifty corner bar.

The engine sputters
the radio stutters
between my mutters
cursing others.

Headlights flow like a waterfall
down this upward incline
without vision I start to stall
unable to read the signs.

Control and vision are lost
like traction to the frost
contraction’s chaotic cost
I keep drifting until I’m tossed.