OLD MAN
Circumstance and want and age
regroup around us and about, to
stage the odd rekindling of our
hearts - and make our minds
subservient. (The master is the
slave, the slave the master).
-
So turns the matter - we are
in our domain, or that domain
is in us. No one knows the
answer, yet we renege.
-
Circumstance and want and
age distort; our memory into
an instant visage freezes. We
retell a liar's tale expanded or
determined by its ending and
how it will be told. Knowledge
know no end, and truth is gold.
-
Our age, then, gold! We cannot
bother over guilt or guile or
innocence either. The old man
gathers string and, talking to
himself, relives his war or
wedding day or fling : Main
actions ruled by him who was so
vast, back in his day. Whatever
that year, let it stay what it may.
-
Circumstance and want and age
revenge upon us - babbling like
an idiot until silent as a corpse.
We bleed our lives, blood empty,
and disperse out little force upon
the sheets. And then, alas, like
a Winter of dread ramming a
Summer of joy, it is over.
-
Neither Lenten lists nor our
abstentions can redeem us ,
(wood and trunk and anvil and
gruel). Native, be no villain,
neither be no fool.
-
Age and age and age detract.
Our powdered head disperses
into flakes. Our age and age
and age pulls thin, gets taut,
then breaks. The old man? He
gathers string, and mutters on.
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