one word. one thing
shows up on my face.
everybody knows it is a
keepsake:
keep away from me today,
for fks sake!
certain peculiarmornings
wake with a cross on forehead.
days when you certain,
everything worth saying
has been written, sung,
not a **** thing left to
contribute, except whining.
no way to purge, the compulsion
welling up, coursing down.
this overwhelms, my outlet store,
permanent closed, sign says
don’t ya know it’s a recession.
a one man recession.
no government intervention
gonna come my way.
the notion that I’ll never just
once more, feel the thrill of a
first love, a new born progeny,
woman, baby, poem, no diff,
wrecks me badly, worried sun consults
my animal friends, what’s to be done?
knowing the answer to my curse is,
not one wiling to courage to curettage
the lining of my decrepitude,
the end then, of no more next time.
though there is a first here. ever.
first time, every stanza writ,
closed off, finally ended, with a flourish,
a puncture of a period.
~~~~~~~~
postscript:
the closing scheduled for now,
have to change the name, says York,
it’s the common law, I’m legal bound,
gonna sign the documents as
no more love poetry.
919am Wed Jul 22 2020
