i drank a gallon of matcha tea
to see if it would cleanse
my soul,
but instead, it kinda gave me indigestion,
as the matcha powder clogged my arteries
and made standing kinda difficult,
so now i run everywhere i go
little ticks go up, then down,
sometimes stay static,
but never for too long,
always someone to buy,
someone to sell,
ticks turn into candles that change color
as the seconds collapse into one another,
more buyers,
more sellers,
all following random patterns
that sometimes go up, sometimes go down,
all with a click,
one tick, tick, tick at a time
on occasion i will read a book or poem pre-20th century,
but often times i find their style to be bland,
droning on and on, despite knowing that their language is quite beautiful,
though for some reason i can’t help but think that writers before the 1950’s
weren’t all that honest,
but maybe i’m just being paranoid because the disembodied head of shakespeare
lied to me as a child
Fred Aiken Writing 