PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It is the year 1969

The garbage in Pelham clinks against

the greedy sidewalks

I continue this ritual...

coffee, italian pastries, and long

long friday nights



What was the plan?



It wasn't this. I am 67 and dying.



Nostalgia is a fever in my thick skin

and it burns brighter now

now that I am old, and I have lived such a

way as to have a story to pass on



Nostalgia is a fever in my hair and

in my fat heart

and it beats less now

now that I have lived as a fool and a man

with too many words



snuffed out.



like wet fingers to a lit candle.



all my tiny loves are fading

dancing quickly off the shores of

canada



a failure.



it was only a blink

and a shot of something hard

the white lightning that singed the

back of my throat in '69

that was all it took to bring

me here

and tell you what I have been through.



and tell you that it was nowhere near enough.