early this year
gentle as calm ocean waters
   lapping along a weir
thumb and fore finger
   of right hand would peal back,

   (via diagonally flippant motion
   asper calendar
   representing progression of time)
   gets flipped over to veer
in one direction (linear)

revealing the next month at lightspeed
   vis a vis tempus fugit galloping tear
thy head immediately lost hirsute thickness,
   i starkly share

male or female pattern baldness
   extant along
   Harris genealogical trunk line rare
yet divulging distress
   about limp decreasing strands
   sends shivers along spine,

   gloomy feeling linkedin
   with old fashioned meaning of queer
and perchance tis foolhardy
   reeding this Samson night issue must ap pear

tis unstoppable inching closer toward
   as mortality gets near
youthful robustness fades
   replaced by senescence mere
   really ambling along tragicomic stream,
   one evinces gargoyles mockingly leer
loosing sleep and kept raggedly awake
   in conjunction dreams fraught
   with frightful haunting monsters jeer
ring sound reverberating hair
splitting decibel jamming primary cranial gear

aye tell mice elf nothing to fear...
yet maximizing this plight with poem 'ere
Yukon also temporarily part
   blond, brown, gold, et cetera locks mud dear.

I touch your hair
then touch the grass,
your hair is so much softer.

I touch your cheek
then touch mine,
they are the same,
so why does yours make my fingers tingle?

I touch your lips with my fingers, they feel good
I touch your lips with my lips,
it feels way better.

I touch your hair, cheek, lips, chest, back,
I touch all of you
and I love it,
I love all of you.

I am weary
My eyes are wandering aimlessly
My forethought having long since lost its ability to see
Anything beyond the warm bed in front of me

O' my old friend
How I long and wish to return to you again
To pass the day slowly away
Until I am refreshed again and eager to live
Outside of this abnormality

Because I miss the normal visions I have
And this, whatever you want to call it existence
Is a much sleepier, far less enjoyable version of me

For I am weary
And yet I want to be
Rested without having to waste my time
Investing in the folds of sleep

This I know to be selfish of me
And yet no matter how hard I try
I cannot seem to close my eyes and rest my head
At either the foot nor head of my bed

Perhaps, if you'd see me, you could understand
That I am not angry, foolish, or sad
I'm just a slightly tired man