Fred Aiken Writing

fasten your seatbelt for the automaton empire to strike rebel forces

until someone claims to be anothet dude’s father,

but I won’t believe it until I see a paternity test,

and even then I’ll still claim I didn’t know the mother,

she probably got around and abound, if you know what I mean,

though what’s an infinite universe worth when it comes down to a small quadrant that no one can reach,

but everyone can hustle and bustle to the moon and back, though how bout that Mars

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