Poetry is like fragments
And that is the crux of being this type of writer

That fragment in time
Love or loss

Seeing and hiding

The pain
The silence
All internal

Sometimes little slips of paper
Left to be found in a jewelry box
Or luggage
or shoe...

Somehow always attached to leaving
But expressing in short verse
An insurmountable feeling of forever

Our words that never fail to carry
Be it to the heavens
To the sea

We see your captivating flaws
Take our anger and paint a tapestry of phrase
You will never be more beautiful
As when you are the subject of a poet
For that fragment
That stanza
It's yours

You are our muse
Our moments in time
A reality in our dimension
The reality of you

I’ve got about 20 years to live
Which, for being in my 40s
Is quite bold
People live well past 100 these days
Those with safe routes
Golden paths
Four year college degrees...
.
I drink a few gallons of wine a week
*****
Tequila
But can still run 10 miles
Without stopping
What a strange dichotomy
That woeful mixture
Could be an elixir for some
But it just stresses, strains, depresses, anxiously evolves
Festers
.
At this age you know
The loves who’ve come and gone
and with that admission  
Cynical wit adorning
You’ll know by now
That there truly was only one
And by that, the blood
That pooled, that never clotted
Mighty river
Will someday take you
Drown you bit by bit
Daily
.
For I’ve never been accused
Of being a good man
Men like me die alone
Gutters
Halfway houses
1 bedroom apartments
With one couch
Men like me jump out of windows
Drown in rivers
Of blood that never clot
Waiting
For your hand
To save me
.
20 years is pushing it...