Implosion

Somedays, I feel old. Worn out. Faded. Somedays a white flag is all I can do. I wrote this on one of those days.

brick to mortar
steel,
straight and true
girth to height
stars racing from my grasp
a moon
that found rest
upon my pillar

argyle socks
and cardigan blue
a wisp, a nod
a point
a place
a power

ah,
but rust
and ten dollars worth of time
found weakness
and crinkle

a sway
a lean
a sigh

the old wolf
can’t mask the limp
and the gray rains
upon spent fields
of forgotten prey
and bitches
that yielded to his bite.

boredom
a pocketful of youth
in tattered
yesteryear
and a cane
for tomorrow’s
dreams

and so it is
and so it goes

no drunken planes
to knock it down
just well placed
charges

by fresh pups
on wild wind

slow motion
almost
the dust must rise
before it can fall
covering
the trails of my time
the tracks of my hope

I’ll gather my bricks
broken
my steel beams
twisted
and finger the grafitti
that tarnished
my glory.

I’ll draw it in
hands to lap
pull it in
line upon line
as the moon finds
another
and the stars
fly free
of threat

no phoenix
no fire
only ashes

what fools
they are
who believe
in time
and bank
the riches
of their blessings.