Winter 1945

Shote in the night.
White faces
Snow fell
On cold bodies
Killing field.
I knew and didn´t want to know
Someone
Took me by the hand
Carried me home
Innocence confronted
By death.
In the night, I vomited
Must be something
I ate last evening.

Sputnik and other vaccines

The pandemic is a time when humankind is attacked nations should work together. Instead, it has become
a business propositions.
Who will sell the most vaccine (not necessarily the best)?
Who makes the most money for the Pharma industry?
And not the cost to the people who need it.
In an article in the Guardian several pharm/chemical
industry and to my amazement the Russian vaccine called
“Without irony” Sputnik was not mentioned, here politics
enter the stage while we wait for the ending of this scene.

Getting over an obstacle
It is uncanny when I’m prepared to drive home
Something happens it is delayed
This time it is the hospital I can’t go there
Since it is free a new appointment takes forever.
The hospital doctors try to stop the Whale from
Swimming to Greenland, the water is too cold.
All animals and fish seek back to their origin
I seek back to where I was reborn were, I grew
up in an ln landscape of olive trees and vine
bushes, a place was the roads were narrow and
silent only disturbed by the bleating of lambs.
The small dwelling my dog and the walk we
Had in the mystic forest of dreams where everything
Was possible.

The Conference in Davos

Davos, men in classy suits, speak fluently
about the ills of the world-
They tell Greta she has to study economic
and coal will be phased out but slowly.

The young wonder why should they study
to get an excellent job in a multinational firm.

Davos, men in elegant suits, speak glibly
of growths, we don’t want more; we like less.
The young know this, we poor elderly too
and it is their future; those in silk suits fail to see.

The Inheritance

When my mother died, she had a flat
Belonging to social security and the was nothing
Of inheritance to speak about
She had a bookshelf full of books. Most belonged and
Were stolen at the local library and she was selective
When it came to literature.
There were also books Stalin would have approved  
Happy workers at a collective farm.
When I came the flat was empty; it needed a lick of paint
ready to receive other clients, the bookshelf was gone.
Relatives had taken furniture and pictures
Which I assumed needed the more than me.
I felt sorrowful about the books they were my mother’s
Soul, most likely they had been thrown away
By non- readers; mind I had read most of the books
She was particularly fond of Dos Passos and
John Steinbeck, but books never die, I remembered them.
My mother and literature go together I no longer
Read as much as I did, but my mother’s eyes are still
There, in my dreams.

Collapsing world

Isn't odd the world is on the brink of collapse
yet more airports are built sometimes at unlikely places
to get the swarm of tourism in.
It is ok for a traveller to walk in the streets of Paris but
not leave trash at the foot of Himalaya and plastic bags
spoiling beaches.
There was a noise on the balcony a big seabird had
collided with glass partition of the railing the bird
suffered a bent beak but was otherwise looking fine
if a bit shocked; of course it could no longer feed and
slowly starved to death.
A warning to us who fail to see the looming breakdown
of our world

The Shark

Sharks are smart
After wandering the oceans
Also, nearly eradicated in the cold water
Of the north.
Decided to seek revenge
By going ashore and with a shark’s cunning
Sought, financial centres where there was the power also.
They dabble in politics too and sit behind
The president's throne whispering sedition and flattery.
The sharks are successful they want to be
Rulers of the world and enslave us
Beware of sharks!
You can find them in the funny way they walk.

Fishing

The sea is turquoise
ships are clouds in the sky.
On the pier headless dolphins
side by side
Music in the air.
Children slide on gore.
shouting sellers
argumentative buyers.
a cacophony of humanity.
Bless this day.
This moment.
God is good here is food for all.

Human cannon
They shot him out of a cannon and lost his legs
He flew low over a forest that took his arms
And torso, his head landed in a hexes’ glade
From trees dripped gore like strawberry jam
They flew up with their brooms collected what
Was left of him and made a stew, and he
Thought what a blessing they didn’t get his legs.
Children out, picking blueberry put his head
In a plastic bag, which the gave to the doctor
Who put him un a glass jar? And when
The last patient was gone had a few drinks
Asked question the head could not answer.
Eventually he- still the head-was packaged and
Sent to a museum.
A museum is a spooky place at night stuffed
With dead animals and there is no lion’s roar.
When the interest in his had abated
They put him on a top shelf where the head
Gathers dust while wondering why he is not
Thirsty or hungry.

The foreign bird
I knew him well trying to blend in
Speaking the language too flawlessly
So, the embarrassment when he
On occasions, got it wrong.
It was not his mother tongue so
His speech was too slow and learned.
Made the language into disharmony
In a country where people speak
The tongue with a certain insouciance.
He, although people are polite, hasn’t
Got many friends they sense, I think,
His tragic loneliness like an echo
Of a country, he left behind that he
Instead of embracing his otherness
Tried to hide it.

Mock Poem

A man I knew who lived in Vilamoura which is a ******
Replica of a real Portuguese Village, decide to walk
The whole length of the land, he came upon an old
a village so aged that houses collapsed by too many years.
A few people belonging to a sect didn’t move.
No, they were not Jehovah witnesses who prefer ringing
On people’s doorbell at Tv time.
They were ****** people convinced the world was
Coming to an end and it was their duty to be the first to go.
And find a roomy place in heaven.
Intrigued by the steadfastness of their faith he bought
A cabin and had a toilet and shower installed.
It was a mistake the dwellers thought bathing was a sin
set fire to his cabin, nothing for it to resume his walks.

The dread

He had slept too long hours lost
in a dream of deep dissatisfaction down a well of evil failure.
The depth had a silt of regrets and self- disgust.
Getting back up was slow progress
like an eagle flying in a vacuum.
Reluctant awakening as visiting death.
This time of the year makes him nervous it is called the festive season.
Christmas lunch.
Fake friendship from the nearest table by people who hated one another.
There was the beginning of an argument by a guest in his cups.
He had hoped it would last, truth even when not welcome, is delicious.
Dreaming by the log fire sounds romantic,
but he could only afford two bars on his electric heater.
Sitting in a restaurant eating third rate food was worse.

No inspiration

If you on your walk
Around the landscape
And lost the impetus
To write
Do not despair.
If you are lucky you might
Meet Pegasus
With a broken wing
Feed it books
Till it is cured
And words will come
From nowhere and
You will
Be whole again.

The Roma

  I see them in my mind’s eyes
walking through the landscape walking forever
their horses, children, dogs and women in black
a slow wander through the world and to the next
unstoppable they are from planet to planet
peopling the universe.
Often misunderstood and murdered for being
different from us, but it is not possible because
they are God’s children.
They are us we are the children but have yet to
discover we are the sacred, the Roma
we despise, we hate what we have become.

Falls flowers

On the road to Bolequeime on the way to a German supermarket
that sells proper Teutonic sausages as autumnal flowers blossom,
some of the blooms sit on white plastic chairs wearing shorts.
Sometimes a car stops, no, not a man in a white van, a big car a businessman
on the way from his office stops getting quick blow-jobs.
Best this way no need to undress an act that causes people to stare.
The human blooms have water bottles the gargle; no one here smells like rosebuds.
They used to, in the summer gone throng nightclubs and the beach
but only slow walking men fill the bars and beach.
Like a beautiful ****, they trek inland, sit by the roadside and wait.
The flowers look nice in fading light, but not if you know what love is.
the **** of autumn sits by the verge, sells despondency

If I tell you that Maria Magdalene
gave Jesus a ******* to ease his pain
when on the cross.
would that be seen as a charitable act
or a sinful thing to do?
or will my words upset the right-winged
Christians so much they would try to
to silence me with a sword of indignant hatred?
I just ask.
Nowadays we get upset about so many things
that we have to sift through our mind what to write
in order not to upset the religious narrative.

The Medal



I dislike bragging
Once I won a bronze medal
For running
Sixty meters
I wore the medal
Every day
Even when going to bed
Put it under my pillow
One day it wasn’t there
I think my brother
Took it.
It was found
Behind the bookshelf
Yes, we only had one
10 years later.
By then I had become blazê
Gold was the goal
I never got won anything
Since my day
Of copper coloured brilliance.

A place of note

  There live in Cascais many older adults,
some of them are wealthy widows (but I have yet to meet any)
they sleep late the internet doesn´t begin before 9-10 o’clock
and I'm up at seven, the habit of a lifetime.
The redundant royal lives in a posh hotel I think they are paid
by the countries, they came from to stay away.
Some royalists dream of bringing back the kings
Queens (not that sort) princes and princesses, better not
to upset any of them as they have friends in high places.
The mask we have to wear id a blessing hiding ancient lips
and gold teeth, wearing a mask makes people look younger.

War kills

Retina less windows
Bodies were strewn on foul streets
A photo of Grozny
Summary execution
Death sways from unlit lampposts
Friend or foe
Who knows?
Conspiracy of peace
Both sides declare victory
The truth is debris

Do as the doc says

My doctor was in a good mood
He had had a good lunch and smelling of wine
After a quick check-up
He asked me if I drank
I said, yes.
Alcohol is no good for you he said
Breathing wine fume all over me.
I agreed
One should always listen to a doctor.
At the nearest bar, I had a cold beer
To clear my head, form his liquid lunch.

The perception

I was two years old sat in the bomb shelter in the basement of an old school
when I became aware of myself.
I looked at my hands, knowing what I did now I would remember the rest of my life.
Above us, English bombers circled they were trying to find the airport,
which was occupied by the German army,
The bombers did not find the airport but dropped bombs anyway before returning home
hit a school, a fish factory and some houses.
I looked at my hands again I had a will could use in my struggle
in the world of adults, the liberty of my thought made me feel jubilant
but also, a bit frightening because from this moment I was responsible
for my action.
What I fear is old age is it going to rob me of awareness
of what I´m and what I was.

Ex-husband

He was a quiet man
his wife found him boring
she had many lovers and flaunted them
in front of him.
I think she waited for a passion that was not there.
Nevertheless, they had a child “his”
she was granted a divorce and kept the house.
There was a hefty mortgage on the house
she had failed to know this.
The bank, as the bank does take the house.
She lives in a trailer now.
As he does three trailers away.
He can hear her scolding voice.
That is the way it goes you never get rid of your first wife.

The slaughter

850 cows stuck on a ship for months could be made into a joke
but it is hellish damnation of how low we have sunk
in our utter callousness towards animals.
A veterinarian says they must be put down the animals
have suffered enough.
A massacre of the innocent.
Once the shipping was an honourable trade, the ships
had an owner; we ****** knew they were individuals.
Now shipping has become a soulless corporation
run by the incompetent whose only goal is profit.
They say the world is better now than before, I disagree
we are going back into the dark ages
when the life of animals had no consequences.
When we behave with cruelty to animals, it is contagious  
we lose respect for all life and let cynicism rule.

Modern democracy


Think of an egg hollow it out drink its albumen and yolk
the empty shell cracks easily and we call it democracy
and free expression which is subjected to unwritten laws.
You can call Trump a son of the devil, but not wish him
hanged, like Mussolini, was hung.

You will be subject to a sensor and put in a cell for a night,
democracy is a schoolyard with high walls if rules
are following the power to be will smile benightedly, you are
a useful idiot and they shower you will see the illusion
of richness if you play their game.

The world is now a fascist state, and they spy on you in shops
or in the street and what you say on the phone is recorded
because if you think and turn they will lose credibility,
followed by a revolution that will set you free providing
they do not infiltrate and ****** your power base away.

The Ring

When I asked my girlfriend to marry me, she was thrilled
and said, now I can quit my boring job and be a housewife.
She called her parents they were coming into town
the next day, meet us at eight o’clock sharp.
I had bought my fiancé a ring of old gold with green gem,
it looked expensive but wasn´t
I put the ring in my camelhair overcoat, the coat was ****
more expensive than the ring.
Going to meet the new family, I was a bit nervous stopped
at a bar had a Rom and coke, as I was about to order
one more drink my friends, came in; laughter and talk.
When I looked at the time it was about 9, I rushed out
And forgot my overcoat
to find a cab, there wasn’t any, so, I had to walk to the house
and arrived about ten 0’clock.
Rang the doorbell, she cried and refused to let me in,
I knocked on the door, when it opened it was her father
Who angrily shouted that his daughter wasn´t marrying a common drunk?
It was the prefix “common” that hurt me most.
Back at the bar, my dear overcoat was stolen but my friends
Consoled me, we drank some more.
Two years later, I saw she was getting married in a small white church
in the neighbourhood.
I went to her wedding but sat in the back didn´t want her to see me.
I have good eyesight and noticed she wore the same ring
I never got around to giving her
That made me wonder if the bridegroom was a thief.

The poverty of self- loathing

The of the cloak of poetry I once wore
does not protect me against my insecurity
the fear of being destitute.
Nowhere to hide when the northwesterly blows
and happy people dance at a restaurant
to the music, I composed in my heart.
Steamed up café windows people eating broth
gesticulate with forks to get me away
to eat their food in peace.
I have enough money for a cup of coffee but
they will not let in the drowning cat.
Never mind I lost my nerves
but it will be better when I write this down
and my notebook is dry with self-loathing.

What few see

99% of people do not care about poetry
and why should they?
The sheep who feed among the olive trees,
the furtive fox, is crossing a field.
the forest full of life and rabbits jumping over
A sinking stone walk.
The climbing rose flower surrounding a house.
Where an old lady leaves and her grandson bringing
Her food and the latest news.
The cat sleeping on the old roof
And the eagle high up seeing what is worth hunting.
The beauty of nature we are too busy seeing.
Yet, poets write about it.
It is a hopeless task, but they are doomed to report
Nature´s greatness.

The smallest life

In front of me on the narrow track leading into the bushes,
I picked up a tiny field mouse held in the palm of my hand
where it fell asleep.
The tiny life was white and brown had eyes, heart and lungs like me.
What what’s next? I could not stay here all day with outstretched arm
waiting for the mouse to awake
I put it in my pocket when hearing the sheep coming down the track.
When dusty wool had walked past, I put the hand in my pocket
the mouse was not there; one thing to hold a mouse in my hand,
another thing is to have to crawl around my body.
I took my trousers off; I took my shirt off, I stood there naked
as Adam in Paradise, no mouse.
I slowly dressed as butterflies flitted about the woods were enchanting
and I enjoyed my ****** it gave me a sense of freedom.

Homeless
The rain falls gently making no splashes
The wind is absent today.
Safe indoors I look out and know many
Seek bus shelters, and they have no home.

Paris is an ugly city, expensive and *****
Their subways stink of unwashed people.

I think of the unseen whom we don’t see
Mainly because we don’t want to.
In our cosy dens, we should know this
The calamity of losing it all could happen to us.

The sitting president of the USA (irony)

My dislike of Trump is deep
like that of any dictator driven by ambition and cruelty.
Then I read the twitter and find tittle-tattle
about him and the women in his household
written for a lot of dosh
by those who knew him and his family briefly.
The intelligentsia make fun of his use of words
which I presume to make them sound learned.
For those who have not got it yet
he didn´t become president because he is
blithering idiot.
Trump´s base
is in the so-called “flyover states” who are annoyed
by Washington and the high fliers there.
His opponent in this race a Joe Biden is seen
as a Washington insider and have nothing to give
the American people, except a white smile
by an older man with a dentist grin.
Trump is all talk he has not started any new war
should he be elected again he might even be
a friend of Iran.

THE HORSES
There was grassland with a river crossing, a natural barrier.
White horses on one side, and muscular brown horses on the other side.
If one looks well, there are foals of mixed race, they good genes and will
in time carve out their land, higher up, near the hills and water.
When farmers wanted a horse for ploughing, they lassoed a brown horse,
for lighter work, like driving the ladies to the church in a buggy, a white horse
was chosen mainly because they were malleable to handle.
Tragedy struck, developers bought the land, houses were built, filling
the grassland with noise streets and polluting the river.
The horses fled to a sparse mountain ***** on the grass, and many
starved, their life span short, and the puma was a constant threat.
The horses mixed freely they had to when their survival was at stake.

A honied fairy tale

The grass in the clearing is deep green and sweet
foxes and rabbits play hide and seek, only stupid
rabbits get caught and devoured.
When twilight falls, there is no animosity each
goes back to their hole in the ground.
Woodrats with silky four have a love life the give
birth to saccharine babies that plays with boars.
For this is a fairy tale where little girls do not cry
by the sight of blood in the snow.
A story best told when sitting by the fire and
eating chestnuts.

Early one morning

It is early morning the boars are back in the woods

The prostitutes sleep in dingy rooms, and rats are back

In the sewers and cats sleep on a sofa looking cute.

Soon cars will fill the street the traffic lasts till six

Then it dies down but remains until midnight.

Now it is time for the nocturnal animals to shine there

Is much food about the leftovers of our disrespect?

For nourishment which we take for granted.

Two pigeons land on the window sill looks they talk

To themselves, no bread crumbs here, fly off.

The building is a being, comes to life, I hear the flushing

toilets and voices, all are well in the land of humans.

Â

The foresight

When I look back on my life, which I seldom do
I think in my writing, I should be deeper; alas, my self-mockery gets in the way.
Why should I think I'm intellectual to have any worth to say?
It appears to me that many on Facebook feel important enough
to enlightening us with their homilies?
If you live like this or that, you will find peace and happiness.
Balderdash!
Reading what philosophers said, is interesting but it does not change your mind.
Nor does reading
the bible makes you a Christian.
Gladness is a gift and the place for village idiots who lack the ability
to reflect upon life.
speculated on what life is for is useless; the only cure is acceptance
that life is cruel, and if you live long enough, friends may drive you around
asking you about the old days, a time you rather forget.
No religion or philosophy will rescue you; you are on your own until death.

It was love

I sat under a bridge
That crossed the stream
Small fishes
Nibbled at my feet.
Agnes came
My girlfriend
She often annoyed me
But let me
Kiss her.
She threw pebbles at the fish
I bit her arm
She ran home crying
Telling her mum
I didn´t love her anymore.
I said I was sorry
She showed me
The bite mark
Asked her to marry me
She said yes.
It didn´t work out
The age differences
Agnes was six years old
I was four.

Haiku
Invisible flowers
Hidden among razed houses
Jordan valley

Haiku
Army vehicles
Inside sat soldiers of doom.
Broken olive trees


Haiku
The heartless triumph
They lose their humanity
Apathy is their price

Habits

There are certain things in life one has to accept
I used to drink a lot, but it was at an awkward junction
of my life before I learned to like myself,
no, it is not a grand love story I avoid mirrors,
it has the nasty truth to tell me of my age.
What I have inherited from my family is the smoking habit
I try not to smoke it shortens one’s life.
But in the evening I do smoke 3 to 4 cigarettes, they
have little nicotine, yet I'm an addict.
How come I can walk around all day and not smoking?
But when evening comes, the craving arrives too,
I should perhaps see a phycologist, but he will only
say what I know. I think tobacco is buried in my genes
and there is little I can do but to accept my failings.

Agricultural words

I was writing words strung together
trying to stack them together and make a little story
not a poem that I don´t care to write
when the electricity took a break.
Not that I minded living inland this happens.
I had a killer ending and wouldn´t let the flame of inspiration die out.
Five hours later, the light came on; I sat too long
in the darkness, the killer ending forgotten.
As I said, I´m not a poet, a worker in the field of words
sowing and weeding, hoping for a good crop.
A farm-hand of words, I do my job and even unpaid
but proud of my cabbage and potatoes.
No, I have no orchids and roses.
Roll a cigarette, lit it and dreamily think of tomorrow
sitting on a stone fence built by heroes.

The stone casts of the life


The journey has not ended
since I had a fall on the terrace the dream was over
I had been holding on selling my old home for a slushy reason.
No, I have not resigned I will not give up on anything
it is just I have to find other alternatives.
No, I have no firm plans they never came to fruition.
I have had the fortune to live a dream.
Now I live in a flat too big for me four bedrooms and
I only sleep in one of them.
The next step I live to what life gives me I don´t need much
when I was a ******, I had a cabin, books and a bunk.
I never dreamt of a castle.
Except for recurring depression, I´m quietly contented.

Darkness

Night is the time to think deep
Usually of ways to cheat death
But it has black wings
That might strangle you before
You find the formula of how
Not to expire.

Night is for owls, ghosts and ghouls
Shine a light in their eyes and
They don't recognise it.
The ill wait for the dawn many
Don't make it and die before dawn
Just as the sun is about to shine.

Night is also the time for dreaming
Of *** and unlikely partners
Of horrid things and birds of prey
Trains that fly to the moon
And avocado men in funny hats
Banana split and ice cream.

From Russia with love

Russia is a strange and great country, not quite in Europe
and not quite Eastern, they react to mayhem but seldom
intimate it; for those who are history less they won
The brutal war of 1940 and 1945 by breaking the back
of the German army and making it possible by Britain
and the USA to take the credit.
Norway has up to know had a warm relationship with
this giant, in the form of a barter system, we gave them
fish and they sent us cars for everyman.
It was not the USA that made car ownership possible, but
Russia flooding the market with cheap cars as foreign
cars were hard to come by.
The cars where called Moscowitch and were fundamental
no heating system and a tortuous suspension, but
for the first time, every man could be
a proud car owner.
For those who remember, it was a dreadful car but
nevertheless, a car.
Lately, to our regret the relationship has suffered, this
Is mainly by American political pressure, and partly
by the Norwegian oil industry that has made her
a wealthy country.
This newfound arrogance is miss-placed and silly
we must treat Russia as the friend she is and not
forget we own her a depth of gratitude.

Storyteller

Now, as spring light fades into
a soft blue night, I turn to you and ask
Tell me more.
The river doesn’t run rapidly as before
The lake is dry
No wind blows away broken dreams.
Tell me more, if you can before, the light
Is an empty space
The stillness has lost its echo.

Wild Horses

In my youth the still used horses
especially for the wealthy.
The leading funeral bureaux had two
lovely black horses, that was too
full of life for the job.
They got the smell of a mare in season
and took off the driver often drunk
lost control and through narrow cobblestone streets
they galloped the wagon scrapped walls broke
shop windows and the casket flew off and finally
the spectacle came to a halt at a blind-road.
They put the dead one back in his casket, got hold
of a sober driver, and somewhat damaged got
to the cemetery, but the dignity was gone it was
more like a comedy show, and we the town's poor,
had something to laugh about for weeks.

Sunday Haiku

Dust on bookshelves
tells of life lived, stillness
Spanish bluebells tolls

Among old olive trees
flowers as yellow as butter
distance is hurtful.

A framed photo
mother hangs on a wall
wordless she speaks.

A white coffin
her face was in harmony
beautiful the peace.

The Unanswered


I look up to the night sky, so vast too big for a mere human
to comprehend.
Why should I be alone in this immensity?
No, there must be something more a ruler of this beauty
How else can I understand?  
Am I, a lone star fading into the universe of none existence?
people seek god, any god, as cosmic loneliness
has no answer.
That is why we turn to religion that offers a simple response
to our foreboding.
Our inability to accept the loss as a natural conclusion
of being born into conscious life.
To know how wondrous the world is.
O, the splendour of the night, what is the beauty I will not see?
In the end, the sun goes on shining, rain falls every spring
flowers bloom as our quest goes unanswered.
What´s left is silence.

Military service (compulsory)

Stationed at a camp
The discipline, not too tough unless you had never done up your bed.
They gave us some old German rifle not
Shooting anyone, but for training.
I liked to go guard duty patrolling the perimeter
There I could sit behind a big stone and smoke
The worst thing that happened to me in the
Military service, sitting behind a rock I had
Forgotten my matches and had to cut me
Patrolling short.
From time to time I stayed out too long and it
Ended in a fortnights jail, this suited me to find
Books to read and my room.
The rest of my military service was a waste of time.

The war and food

During the war years in Norway 1940 to 1945
there was little food, but the coast was teeming
with fish, my brother and I often walked down to the pier
and in a matter of minutes had dinner.
Needs make you into a thief we stole potatoes,
apples and coal for the fire.
We had a variety of fish like boiled, fried or made
into fish-cakes, but in the process I developed a lifelong
dislike of fish, but I do eat fish as long as it doesn't like
aquatic vertebrate.
After the war nicking food was no longer seen as legal
but with food in shops it was no longer needed

Reality check
reality is when a dreamer wakes up
remember bills has to be paid,
a divorcee in a room without windows
and only know it is raining from
a leaking roof, bare fridge and no heating.
How could it become like this?
Execrable state when dreaming
Life was easy.

The execution

The basement, where cars are parked
in neat little boxes in a row, is cold and creepy.
It looks like a place where the fascists can
execute dissenters those who go on about
liberty for the masses.
There are bloodstains on the wall and cars
are silent witnesses to the massacre.
From the roof of the garage, blood drips of
the tortured on the first floor.
A black and white western on another wall
drown the screams of those who finally realize
there is no escape.
I sit in my car; it is ten years old and is not
forgotten in this horrid time. I sleep a little.
Wake up, start, the vehicle and take it out for a spin.

Living forever

The knowledge of living forever
is already here, all one has to do
is renewing one's cells once a year
beginning at the age of forty
or there about when a person is
self -sufficient.
It is also possible to renew cells so
often that one regress to infancy
and looked after by your son who
is unable to grasp that he is changing
his father’s *****.
But longevity has its own risk how to live
you can alight from the 9 bus
and be knocked down by a car,
the autopsy would show the killed person was not
forty years old but 110.
The best way to be old is to **** someone in Oklahoma
get 200 years in a padded cell
be  fed through a slot in the wall
And when the years come to an end,
refuse to leave the prison, your home on earth.