everything great that I could ever say or do
has already been said
and done
and thought
and felt
and died
the way two pieces of toast collide to
(create a moment of silence)
made possible by a shit ton of butter gone rancid
but not too bad if you don’t think about it
I refuse to read a footnote, since what needs to be said should have been written in the main text,
and I rarely research what’s never been there or forgotten,
laid out in pieces scattered to the infinity and burning sulfur creating a nice picnic
in the middle of a disaster zone filled with chemical waste that the cleaning crew forgot about and left for someone else to look it up and see what it’s about,
though for all the shit that been written and researched to death,
there rarely seems to be anyone that knows what’s going on,
little ambulatory Hot Pockets(™) cruising through with anxiety and unidentified ooze coming out from all sides and called a good day at the beach, or a beautiful winter mist,
or maybe all unfunded visions are hallucinations speaking volumes of footnotes
that I forgot to read, because they remind me of legalese small print,
and I refuse to be fucked by a lawyer
Fred Aiken Writing 