Aging

07 Jan

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Aging

 

A finale

As I age with my women

each one like a lovely overdose

a marvelous succumbing

a mysterious matchbox

full of tricks and fire

And as I age with those that are gone

I am ragged, but I know a little more

I become less and less distracted

less frequently dilapidated

in murk and early hours

More and more fastidious

constantly anxious about getting the words out

while I can still remember them

Straying closer to home these days

like a wild cat being domesticated

across the heimal years

eating merciful scraps

caterwauling against the musical torture of the world

a cavernous sound like a choir

a dark, smiling simile akin to your girl’s new lover

performing “Hallelujah” in the John Cale arrangement

like Buckley’s specter reborn a hipster

while she worships at his feet like a leper

miserable, unconscious and close

And yet I age

again and again

over and underneath

completing something lost in the way

trying to ignore the lilacs

underfoot

crushed by the mounting absolutes

and the fadeless unacceptance  

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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