It's not that I'm getting
older

but that
I feel I missed out

on all the the great things
the iconic stuff

that I could wax poetically
about

like seeing Milton Berle
or Henny Youngman on stage

at  a Catskills Resort
a place like the Concord Hotel

mind you

not the older versions
of those legends

but the younger swinging
tuxedoed

swagger muffins

shouting jokes
into  those old-fashioned

silver microphones

Last night I dreamed of rippling
turquoise

and sybaritic rhythms
as if

I was in my own echo chamber
made

of sea glass shaped
like a giant

tongue

The older I get
the less I search for

truth

because these days
a white face and honking nose

work for me

it's the simple and absurd things
in this life

that are all I need

Silver paint
on particle board

made
to look vintage

Times Roman Font
painted on sheet metal

water lapping at the shore
speed boats growling

clouds moving in then
moving out

sun
piercing through

I'll stop talking

It's a still life this
universe

silent
and  the voices

we hear are our
own

Fiery red
black handle rubber tires

that made shallow tracks
in the grass

when I pulled you from here
to there

we needed each other
I realize that now

My wheels spin my brain
in full throttle

two gears
drive and reverse

but no longer park