Fred Aiken Writing

Category: Poetry

my xmas poem; i hope it doesn’t sound too sad

suicide looks festive when using xmas lights,
green, blue, red, and white,
while dressed as a depressed santa
overfed from rum-soaked ham with a side of yams 
coated in fermented cane syrup left in an anaerobic barrel
for 3 weeks prior to this,
oh glorious,
of days passed down by tradition,
to be passed out while screaming at the television
for the little uniformed men
to perform uniformed movements,
as demonstrations of athletic prowess
feel forced but necessary,
forced into the necessary,
excessive, obsessive, desultory

inspiring circles

i was inspired by hiroyuki doi,
so i started drawing a whole bunch of circles
on a scrap piece of paper;
my circles aren’t as artistic,
in fact, they kinda look like squares
but i do feel relaxed while drawing them

images i can’t touch

geographic lines, half mesmerizing, half tantalizing;
cropped, then rotated to be shown on a platform
to make them look good,
fresh, maybe even something you’d be willing to eat/pray/fuck/dominate,
but wrapped in cellophane,
which i’m allergic to,
dammit