the cat silences with a scritch under the chin,
the basement is organized in bins
the **** garden mocks my back
the inbox smugly holds its stacks

each moment a jump from clockface
slash to slash

wife lays in the afterglow, flies buzz two and fro, night stages house creaking, shingle colors leaking, dishes sit sloppily in the sink,

the ticking drives me to tears

I broke.

I once wanted one.
A dad.
A true father.
To his heart,
to his wife,
and his family.
What I got was another.

Swallowed by suffering,
his silence
suffocating a dream.
His?
Mine?

Lost and adrift
and slowly
buried
by his past.

Now father.
Dad.
I alone have to stand.
For my youth
long since passed.
Stand for my kids, my wife,
and yearning
for the heart, the Soul
of my Self.

For the boy who’s walked alone,
who still lives with me.
So that the pain can rise,
Can breach the surface
and let loose
the storm
for a sweet burial song.
  
All this
so he can once again
Remember
what love is.

A veil of fear
Floats around my face
Aimlessly
I was some starry eyed child
Never taught self control

The fear of aging
And living through this day in age
Consumes me
And wanders aimlessly
In my brain
But still seems to stop me in my tracks

The things I’ve done
Remind me not only
That I am imperfect
But that I am aging
Growing into a starry eyed woman
Who learned that she can change
Because when you stop growing
You are dead
And I am full of life
I have nothing but time

And even so
Even if this veil of fear
Floats around my face
There are things I can only
Learn with time
There are things that only
Come with age
And I am aging all the time
I am growing all the time

So in that time
I will throw the veil from off my face
I am not afraid to age
I am not afraid to change

i missed my calling
but not my window
ive lived to tolerate
innuendo
about my age
and my grays
and better days
but its okay
cuz my best days are
right now...

window still wide open
letting in and out
my flow...
champagne
and peaceful chaos
and sultry ****
alchemy
from all the years of
**** i know

basemented   this liminal vivarium of cool moulded plastic
             with mirrors standing in for windows
and a ring of branded restaurants taking refuge at the edges
    all familiar     no surprises
the staff set up
         for the consumers morning
                      of slack mastication
      (Local chain, national, international)
  
the old-timers   glomming into clump
    benign zombies
an arrangement of fellas with dissolving jaws
  cudding over mammary notions
       untailored in sacky pallid sultana skins
    reform in a mumble
doing snailish pinball movements
            crossing and recrossing floors
         cleanly tiled for biohazard accidents
               salivating about the savoury soft foods to come

the restaurants rattle-shake-raise their security blinds

also noted
a mixed bag of people projecting
      into their smooth glowing slablets
    making out like worldly fools

also present
cropped and groomed toy security
      peering between the fronds of plastic foliage

offscreen
public bathrooms   the first struggling **** of the day

also present
a bench of  youngsters in bright blue screen matching pjs
  the four employees of sanitation
      drumming up for the shift

see also
vague happy lady in a  garish sarong
importing her holiday religion

Characteristic

of old people's buildings is --


their name: Home of Loss.

A new appointment,

and today my first grey hair:


what many changes!

I'm disappearing.
Bit by tiny bit.
I'm becoming a mosaic
Of technological parts.
I'm not bionic,
I've a real heart;
But aids help me hear;
Implants help me chew;
Stainless steel lets me kneel,
I wear specs to see you.

Nothing man-made can last;
Not like mountains and forests
That don't need my resources.
You may say these things aren't living, as such...
But you'd be wrong.
You may argue I am not living as such...
You'd be wrong again.
I need batteries and oil,
Scripts or x-rays to prove it,
But the proof is there.
I'm shedding skin, losing hair,
Have diminished hearing and sight;
My legs are sore and tired and my back...
Oh my back...
Yes, I am disappearing
And will be remembered for a generation;
As my grandfather was with me.
When my brain disappears,
So will he.

i fall asleep in the back of ubers, to the sounds
of middle-aged drivers talking to their loved ones
giving advice, the smell of spice, my temple on the window
just playing a mental jeopardy with the meanings behind
those accented words of languages i don't understand
perhaps, once upon a time, i did, but now, no longer

i sleep like a stranger in my own home, climbing
into my bed without caution, with atrophying bones
it's a debilitating exhaustion, it's characteristic of aging
of falling and forgetting about the friendships and benefits
that broke through my bed slats, plus the flash-lit attempts
to fix the unfixable with feminist texts and crumpled cash

i dream about my mother as another, and her neck
remains untouched, perhaps only adorned with pearls
so wide, and so bright, and the garage door is always unlocked
it's comfort, it's nostalgia, it's the furthest i've been from home
and when the radio turns on, i wake to unfamiliar laughter, and
"i miss my dog, and i miss falling in love," and everything's amiss
and all i can do is sit here, tipping a stranger as i reminisce