carry the one
divide by a prime number randomly selected by
a disabled veteran high on opioids,
exponentially increase the derivative functions
of a thousand mice carrying off the princess into the sunset,
cross the eyes, dot dot dot, dimmer switch to create a pleasant atmosphere,
sell the space, become rich, go to California
and wear ankle weights to fit in,
then make something up, and you’ll have the answer
if I knew what I was doing, then I don’t think I’d be a poet,
I might be a physicist or a pirate,
or maybe something else that doesn’t start with a ‘p’,
like a beekeeper that writes bad detective novels that no one reads because they’re about beekeeping related crimes,
and they go over everyone’s head,
or maybe below it, I don’t know,
either way, I certainly would never choose to not know what the hell I’m doing,
yet here and hear I am for want and waning hands,
tis nobler to raise steeds,
but cheaper to burn seeds
every time my cat bites me
I feel as if I’m one step closer to her loving me unconditionally,
like she does my wife,
their bond is inseparable, and enviable,
my cat follows my wife wherever she goes,
and I’m the third wheel that often gets kicked out of bed,
but one day I’m sure that if I keep letting my cat abuse me
she will love me in her own way, or maybe I’m just projecting
Fred Aiken Writing 