(20 minute poetry)

Nothing here now
'cept the shadows that pass me,
Summer was a postcard pitch and toss,
the taste of candy floss that melted and yet stuck to uncouth lips.

Oh,
but that summer when I made a dinner of my youth and what a serving that was,
it was the blazing of a sun on unsinned flesh,
the findings in the fine mesh
so delicious,
I remember.

The darkness comes more frequently to bide with me,
old age is not all that it's cracked up to be.
Do I regret the many of my mistakes,
the paths I took or
the times I never looked at
the bigger picture?

You betcha.

I still catch the taste in what became the waste of me and at times I wait and see if I can be at one with it,
but the bullets that I loaded all hit home,
I
am alone,
just memory,
nothing here now unless you count the view from the cemetery?
I never do.