I don’t see 28
My bones creak louder than your bed when you
have Sandra around the house,
I fear the worst.
The night is colder that it was last year.
I grow older, daily.
But I am still a babe of the world.
Glorified and force-fed ability
and the ability to erode ability
and the ability to erode the purpose of the ability.
I don’t see my tree growing in my lifetime.
I see a thousand lifetimes.
I see the moment and I see forever.
I see your children.
I see your death.
I see your infidelity.
or is it mine?
Anyways.
Is it only me?
I can see the twilight,
but the dawn is hazy.
Maybe I’m the one who’s lazy.
Maybe.
I don’t know.
I don’t see
28
It is pretty late,
in the day to make such crude assumptions.
I see today,
the day is more tangible than I am.
it happens to all of us, and I happen unto myself.
I see tomorrow.
I have assignments to complete.
I don’t see 5 years after
today.
My skin smells foreign now,
and I figure,
that’s the mark of death on me.
I bow my head and worship the day
It may live longer that I will.
It is more tangible than I am
It is more alive.
I can see its vestiges.
Its need for blood and decay
Its hate for blatant delay
Its sufferance unto a happy ending
I cannot see,
us bonded,
in any kind of marriage.
Which is sad, but still amiss.
I worship the day, because it will live beyond me.
As I pick on the berries I was told to
before the day ends.
I do not see
28
I see my bed at the end of my day
and my misery
The colors are too harsh for any mercy.
But harsh enough to light my desires.

