I woke up this morning
With fewer steps ahead
Then there are behind,
As the incline increases
In proportion to the number
Of familiar faced corpses
Rotting in the ditch
Along the side of the road.

Bone on bone
Cartilage-free grinding
In my knees
Won’t hold out much longer.

Though they’ve lasted
Ten years longer
Than Byron’s club foot,
Marching a Grecian swamp
In search of a soldier’s grave
To lie down in.

Forty-Six years
And both my parents are gone,
My own sunset in sight,
Nihilism scratching
The inside of my skull.
Drifting in the dusk,
Memories of motivations
And dreams unseen
Flutter and fade,
Smoke in the sky.

5/20-5/30/19