Wordless

---

I will shuffle into today

through the garage door

where I’ll collect a high

octane anxiety with old

coffee grounds and soft

boiled shells. The stage

sets, as the scene shifts.

The hour of translating

thought into fragrance.

Petals, diesel, ginger,

ocean. On my tongue,

the taste of the urchin

I tried, to impress you.

I hated it. The salt silk

implosion. I fell in love

which ended. I entered

the stiff lattice of fear

so primal, so powerful

it rocked me straight

to sleep. I can see it

using a mouse-hole

in my eye. Because I

grow full on the knoll

of an emptying world.

---

Dyslexic, former competitive weightlifter, J.B. Fredkin received BA degrees from Santa Clara University and an MFA from The New School creative writing program in New York. He has had his poetry published in: Pif Magazine, Atticus Review, Eunoia Review, Santa Clara Review, Best American Poetry Blog, Belleville Park Pages, and High Shelf Press. He currently lives, writes, and teaches in San Francisco.