Fred Aiken Writing

postponed fever dreams sweating through t-shirts

of teenagers slinging dope on the sidewalk upside down and on electric scooters

while piles of mile high coal flames to the purple heavens making clouds abundantly clear

skies for weeks on in

not a drop of rain

not a single tear to drown the dirt seeping through the cracks

calling me back without a name

without a telephone id masquerading as identity without teeth