Flying Japan

Think of a title- a name, a city, a place.
Just a name, they say.

Your heads flips round and round as you try
to gather the edges of your polished brain
oozing like the grease stuck on the bottom of a frying pan- yellow mucus splitting the edges.

Come up with a name, come up with a name.

Your fingers trembling with torment as twenty- five pairs of eyes haunt you in your day like hollow spoons eating your guts.
The sweat arousing from under your eyebrow falls to the floor with such simplicity that it enters the sides of the cement’s cracks and fills a giant space- a hollow galaxy only flowing with imaginations.

God damn it, one freakin’ name!

Now, your feet quiver like the swooshing wind that hits the window of your car when you leave it a little open under the storm.
Bedlam fills your stomach- hot blazing summer in mid-December.
Your eyes twitch every three milliseconds, your mind jolts as it breaks, and your mouth trembles with abhorrence- a melancholy bleeding and only visible to the veins of your body.

Uhhh…Uhhh...
Jesus Christ just say anything!

He comes close, looks straight into your fuming eyes, tells you to bawl out loud, not be afraid.

You finally scream:
I killed them, I killed them all when I was Flying in Japan.