Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Poetry

instant messages in fleeting bottles made of digital glass,
zip files opened, found what you were looking for,
but then forgotten,
as the brushstrokes grow cold, dried on uneven canvas
spread up and down an inconsistent hill,
and then told
it’s would have been better to laugh than hold
onto this silly notion that there was still something to
read in the texts you sent me last night,
drunk,
and lonely,
and frightened

July 22, 2023

KEYSTROKES THAT SOUND LOUD

there’s not a lot that i want to do in a day,
but i do, you know, want to do something with you,
but not like that,
or that,
i don’t think we’re thinking about the same thing,
maybe we should just sleep on it and circle back
to this tomorrow,
perhaps it will be better then

July 21, 2023

SELL, THEN SELL, AND SELL

sell me crypto,
sell me my soul,

sell me time back from
when we spent that week in a timeshare,

a fleeting grasp on moments’ fiery blaze,
the ether’s pulse, a symphony of stars,

sell me time back from the coded night,
sell me the constellations poking through the sky,

spell out each memory,
nonfungible, tokens placed on the table,
and gambled away for a brief moment

spent looking up, down, left, right, left, left, and back