Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: Poetry

quickly making waves out of glass

while pouring gallons of milk and blood down the drain

so the sewage system stays revitalized

to tackle tomorrow’s problems today,

or however the phrase goes,

maybe it’s closer to eat shit and die already,

but I’ll leave that to the taste makers to taste test

whether my bodily functions are poison or not

the moment it all comes undone,

then it will all make sense,

but more than likely there won’t be

anyone to reason it out,

so let it burn

shiny tokens made by madmen late into the night with feverous dreams of riches

beyond the scope of comprehension or understanding or even reality,

while teeming with bulging eyes staring at blue screens into the early morning,

blood shot,

juiced up,

ready to press Start, Pause,

then Rewind

to a beginning when it all made sense, then redacted for the sake of posterity