Vivid visions of the past lurk me,
I’m walking on the avenues of once a quick man’s vision,
driving in car models a dead man thought
and voting with rights dead men and women fought—
for, we’re all living life through dead men’s visions—
books of laws and morals woven by dead men’s *****—
subconscious slaves to dead ways.
So ask me about “life” and I’ll reply,
*I’m still waiting to live like my master
for everyone that lives dies
but everyone that dies lives.

I am fine, Until . . .
That gentle voice - pretending helpfulness
Maliciously whispers
In my inner ear
And suddenly my world is shaken to the roots

In the smoke of its lies I am almost convinced.

My friends are
Untouchable strangers
Who only tolerate my presence
because telling me to *******
Would be awkward for them.

My intelligence dissolves
Until I am nothing more
Than the fool that inspired
every blond joke ever invented.

I become a nuisance
Even to myself
And wonder why I should
even bother
Trying to make it to 50

Sometimes I try to fight back,
Using reason and light humor
To beat back the dark monster.
But even though I can usually force it
back into its dank hole,
It mocks me while backing off
And shoots a parting remark before
Sliding into the depths
To await its next opportunity at my sanity.
And I am left
hurt and confused.
Trying to clean the doubt out of my mind
As if it were a small bird rescued from an oil spill.