Damnit! I binged
again II day
IV life was hard
and so I
VIII my stress away.
O why do I so of X gorge?
Since turning XL
I’ve been extra large.
forties
Self-conviction
when you live too hard
forty is a warning
fifty, penalty
Sound of winter leaves at night
Age is a foreign land I can’t get used to. I want to go back home.
Eye floaters
snakes and worms
squiggles and sperms
phantom insects
crawling, free-falling
Branching
this winter afternoon
i stare between bare
branches of gray trees
in the distance i see
an unreturnable past
or a dwindling future
i can’t tell which but
the silence is sublime
Wizen
but on the bright side
middle age aridity
concentrates essence
Liftoff
believing my wings were fragile and fractured
in my formidable forties, i abandoned
approaching fifty, i know my wings are strong
they just cannot lift so many heavy
Aging inside & out
The years pile up and hide under a new exterior.
blackout poetry created from Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, 1850
Deprecated
Age is like the latest version of a software — it has a bunch of great new features but you lost all the cool features the previous version had.
Ossifight
Somehow, I got old
before really learning to be young
the old in my bones is calcified
the young in my soul is still growing
Angles
The sun shines different ways in summer and winter. And we shine differently in the seasons of our lives.
Forty-two-tick-tock
the body is a clock —
bones tick and tock
years gather in flesh
an alarm set for death
Only bruises
Poetry allows
my soul to age gracefully
my mind to land softly
amongst the new gray hairs —
without it I’d have thunked
into my forties with
tail bone, funny bone
and spirit broken