Fred Aiken Writing

barely 24hrs without you
and I can somehow barely function despite
going all these years without your help

without your reasoning without the comfort of your ideas without the contour of your presence
the reassurance that I might one day know the confines of your knowledge

somehow makes things worst
because it makes it seem like I’ve come to depend on you rely on you melt into your thoughts
on a warm blistering frigid humid fine and raining day

that times passes itself off like a completely normal thing
tragically removes the ions of stenciled microorganisms standing
in my way

fighting through the desert of despair that’s left
without your scent impression physical sound bending
to the rhythm of a wondrous pocket watch constantly
ticking through the catalog of space and time in between now and when I will see you again