A Poem - That TIme

That Time

With 52 there are decades and breath mints and affinities to – the smell of burning earth rolling down your throat – forgetfulness; pills; Bed to car to eyes to ears. resolutions to just reconnect; to dance; with my wife; pictures and writing shit down. Torpor and stupor as god damn legitimate lifestyle options, but getting my ass on a trail. To a waterfall. work on time and back. On time. Skipping the soapbox, as if this ain’t exactly just that. Watching parents die and. Vortexes of coming. Cat litter. Keys. IRAs. Going. White privilege and loathing. Stealing road trips and making checklists. Bitter sights and sweet sounds. Sugar pee tests, colonoscopies, and the god damn word cardio. Making marks and just erasing them.

Published on Rue Scribe


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