Fred Aiken Writing

Lacking Oxygen on Odd Squares Meant for Imaginary Opponents Grasping at Straws

a battlefield of geometric pieces fawning over lost strategies,
elegant violence,
fierce elegance,
running elusive, but no match,
steadfast, ruined grace coming up empty without any spaces to move to,
with the ultimate prize never quite achievable,
but taunting
if only done with exacting precision and skill
that doesn’t seem possible,
no room for error, the fight to win
or kill old gods to make a statement

Shiny Art that Looks Better in Streets Owned by the Rich

artsy cafes in a concrete town,

sipping anaerobic coffee in anaerobic bubbles,

the streets loud with arts and crass

yet finding moments of poise amidst losing syllables dribbling across traffic lines;

amidst the chaos, seek some peace in the music that makes hearts release signs of logic taped up and shipped

to the nearest dream with a PO box

controlled by pieces of a puzzle handled by shadowy figures

laundering misdeeds through art spreading out into the city like viruses without a mend;

but mintable