Short Shambling Poems

Twilight falls early 
as my portable threat bestirs itself
The rat is hungry 
and happiness hollow 
time a burden 
The day’s end is a failure 
when sleep is not a refuge 
(or trouble at t’ mill) 
and back at Go 
I hit the ground shambling 
and pray
Jan 04...

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The final straw

thinly concealed stripe
heavy line easy
simple strike
it doesnt make me queasy
so simply fascinating
as it spreads further apart
the flood procrastinating
before it can start
shield cleanly cut
breaking tiny swords
not cold not hot
the flood is a horde
split the canvas
dry and crumbling
frames the tower as
and leaves them shambling...

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One day I appear in the supermarket
in sweatpants and T.

Stained nocturnal, I drive my son to a concert,
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
shamble into the night.

I have entered the middle,
the shambling center
that is the patched heart
of aging.

Days are thrown together,
nights hang on the backs of a chairs,
rumpled mornings enter the evening
unchanged....

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One day I appear in the supermarket
in sweatpants and T.

Stained nocturnal, I drive to a fast-food restaurant
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
then slapdash my way into the night.

I have entered the shambling center
that is the patched-up heart of aging,
where night hangs on the backs of chairs,

and rumpled mornings enter the evening
ever willing to un-change....

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