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.
midlife
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
Charged
suddenly my life feels
like the air before a storm
silent, searching, charged
an imminent disaster
with destructive beauty
bright sun here and now
dark clouds at my horizon
electrified waiting
a whirlwind of stillness
it’s building, billowing
but to i know not where
and possibly to nothing
no body to forecast
whether or whether not
my future lies ahead
feeling ghosts in the wind
restlessness & anticipation
i dread this storm
but somehow
more than that
i welcome it, ache for it
oh i sorely need to become
sodden, grounded
struggle bedraggled
so i can revive
regrow vibrant —
dead branches torn away
old beliefs ripped from roots
worry whipped to shreds
powerful bolts striking
stronger than anything
i can create myself
blind me — enflame my entire sky
i want to look at the world anew
and that starts
with my own vision
i’m ready
for a new version
my being has become torrential
yet minimal — nearly imperceptible
not yet in a crisis, still
i’m bordering one, circling it
crying out for that flash point
beckoning it, to break —
to shatter my former self
and my current nothingness
into a mended calm
risen from the storm
rain, gales, hail —
i don’t care
just let it come
i need to be reborn
from the wild remains
of my inner tempests —
no, i do not want to die
but only to live again
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
Alarm ringing true
There was time —
I know there was —
saw it spread out
all ahead of me,
a beautiful infinity —
immortal fresh-faced
clock of opportunity —
numberless, handless
no ticks & no tocks
save for the sound
of distant decades
too quiet to really hear —
but at forty-eight years
a sudden gear-grinding
cacophony, the outspread
blanket of eternity
has begun to suffocate,
wrapped around me
limiting my agility
darkening my path —
I’m having trouble
breathing, I no longer
see that clock open
or free, its movements
now deafen me, its hands
tear into my flesh and
grip tight my throat —
I am choking on
second thoughts
at this midlife hour
this day of reckoning
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.
Release
the wisdom of age
takes root to blossom
in crevices of the brain
emptied by letting go
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