UFO SIGHTINGS
By: Iris P. Concepcion

I am incorporating a street interview into my daily dose of poetic license. I am deconstructing a biography of my life in a pseudo-static way while everyone around is pissed off by this self-imposed stasis and stoicism.

How else can you explain the phenomenal dissertation of mismatched conversations where words like a) place b) food c) blackened gums could mean alley-hooping tutorials. Some flee; the rest had managed connecting a world of dots in the centerfield.

Much piercing: I am taking my direction from an entity below three feet.

Appropos to the culmination of this underground Woodstock forbearing, you just wish you can wire up the body system into a non-fat yoghurt existence.

We are delving into a paranormal unknown that holds a promise more than the jiggling of cut-off toes.

Wait and see.