The friendship with my mirror
ended already a long time
ago anyway
the reflection was one dimensional.
Wrinkles were
not clearly stating the condition of my mind.
Wrinkles ARE!
The color of my skin,
badly influenced by tungsten,
should have made
clear an
unhealthy heart.
This morning a poet died.
Accordingly
I still have another score to go
or if you prefer I still have
two decades
to Go!
to Make myself
useful!
to Do
as much in a timeframe
of seven thousand three hundred days
as I did in the three scores
behind me!
Do I have time enough to find out if
chocolate is bad for dachshunds?
Can I still,
accuse stupidity,
banalize age,
canonize my friends,
dance with a date,
eliminate enemies,
falsify my birth year,
gelatinize my hair,
hard-boil an egg,
immolate before being sacrificed,
jeopardize my whatever reputation,
kiss, kick and knock,
laicize worshippers,
machicolate criticasters,
nightclubbing,
orchestrate my funeral,
pair, panic pardon ... till a certain age,
quickly pair. time is on my side,
randomize all this,
sanctify my love,
theologize with laicized worshippers,
unbutton my trousers myself,
ventriloquize in my coffin,
walk on water,
Xeroxing my days to exponentiation x to survive thee,
yelling my anxiety,
zapping zip codes to zero?
The age score of fear
Someone should sanctify my love.
