Thursday, August 18, 2016
On Turning Sixty
The decade sounds ominous
Now "S"s as the "F"s
Recede in the rear view mirror
A curdling unease
Vague notions of hobbling
Canes, vanished virility
Creaky joints crimped digestion
And "sir" as the cashier
Rings up milk of magnesia
The mile marker slides
By the window of this
Passing train
A shade lowers a bit
To hide the harsh light
Tell me something
I don't know
That days have numbers
That fall and rise
The price set by how
They are spent
Short supply
Infuses illusion
With clarity
The forelock of time
Waits to be plucked
Love to be spoken
I am learning to
Take a deeper
Breath
A welcome shock
To the System
A sweet taste
Of creosote
Of hot chiles
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Toso, this is great. I'm only halfway there, but the horizon looks similar. You keep going and it keeps receding. Hope you are well my friend. - Jake Levine
ReplyDeleteHey Mr. Levine -- Thanks dude. We all on the path into, no? Keep up the good work.
DeleteToso, this is great. I'm only halfway there, but the horizon looks similar. You keep going and it keeps receding. Hope you are well my friend. - Jake Levine
ReplyDeleteVery fine, Erec- Sums it up nicely.
ReplyDeleteMerci Msr.
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