”we are all transitory”
a favored flatulent falsehood
of the prognosticators and the
forecasters, self~appointed,
prophets of our time,
whose track record of
misspeaks is swallowed
up by the news cycle
of forgiving by forgetfulness
I am decades in transition,
the better part of century’s,
and yet still writing,
compulsed
compassed, compelled
by the errata of life,
my continuum has undefined
edges, once sharp, now dulled
by the erosive nature’s
waveology, steady repetitive,
changeable, corrosive,
and I transition from day to day,
leaving behind my detritus,
my “I was here, this day,”
see my proof!
see my poem
see me