An Orthoscopic View Poem by Zac Wittstruck

An orthoscopic view of an ancient piece of plastic
has been established by a famous radiologist
who has been recently inducted into the meager
association known as the hall of red lights. Although
the manager of human resources denied this claim,

after the buildings on either side of him
collapsed, he noticed an old woman wielding a
flagon juxtaposed with donuts that was
falling at a rate of hundred thousand miles per minute

per minute toward the upside-down sky. Unexpectedly,
the two buildings leaned in toward each other and
kissed with their scraping brims, eating waffled grids
shaped unintentionally as carp-flavored crepes. When

the windows finally shattered into the stratosphere, the
old woman, who by this point was sitting on a la-z-boy
hovering in zero gravity, felt the wind scratching her chest.