#forties
I’m thinking of The Orb
and the crusty, mucked crystal
of the transition from child to adult,
scored and soundtracked
excoriated by blunt first loves,
first lives lost, tempest tossed,
into oversensitive abysses
from which there’s “Never loving again!”
except after growing and knowing
Lo-fi made it easier and harder
than these cheeky bleeders,
at least, I know my bare cheeks on film
would take weeks to get back from Boots
and not be broadcast to Kuala Lumpur
in seconds
Age beckons
always
in a way we revulse at
but blunder and succumb to
You becomes we becomes us
as no bad thing
but we must honour
our custodian status
and not impose
The stupid vine grows
where it’ll grow,
we demonstrate this
wonderfully
May 27, 2020
May 27, 2020 at 8:24 AM UTC
Feelings of aging aches beginning
Creeping in
Creeping in
In morning high snapping
Of joints and bones
Accompanied by deeper moans and groans
My reflection stares back at me now
Whiskered face
Whiskered face
The puffy eyes not younger
The hair I had retreating
I surrendered the troops to a clipper working
I wonder if Dad felt this way too
Numb to time
Numb to time
Boys running circles
Around his life
Did he have time to enjoy the sunsets?
Jun 2, 2019
Jun 2, 2019 at 2:07 PM UTC
Forty-Two: equidistant
from twenty-two
from sixty-two.
What will happen
in this middle space:
raising kids
and sending off
parents--
Ending careers
and beginning
new ones?
What will I recover?
What will I leave behind?
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:51 AM UTC