the closer one comes to death
the more the world resembles an insane asylum
the promise of the early days
the hope sleazily wrapped
in worship of dark alleyway noir
now the sagging, deflated heart
sighs and stale cheese sandwiches
the boringly mediocre details of love
it’s easier to meditate on the wasted chances
the frivolity of a cloud or squeal of tires
before impact
a baseball game on the radio in mid-May
a good book with a bad ending
a couple bucks
a brother’s divorce pending
the closer one approaches the inevitable
the more certain one is of the minutiae
the dimple rather than a smile
one
fine gray
hair