Poem: Age

 

Age

 

wrinkles slither

over the desert of my skin.

so many sketchy eels

on saggy roads.

they twitch in packs,

forming a seine no memory can evade,

nor even a breath.

 

i write these verbal cobwebs,

the art of reweaving

the creases on my skin.

maybe i’ll hunker down,

crab-gripping dry pens

to copy the mayhem

aimless in my throat.

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8/3/24