Behold the March

Body a Braille map wrapped in phrenological stacks Curves, cuts, scars, furs Of varying density A meaning A word hewn through a lifetime’s action inaction reflex focus distraction Crows feet off-ramps into eyes And lives not led Dead ends and thoroughfares Where foot traffic has left footprints And its okay [quick guitar solo] I do not fear the decay of age as many do Always knew youth was lent not given I shudder considering organ failure The passing of the rosey glow Has been replaced by understanding So profound it has tattooed its grace Into the elasticity of my face [strings swell in background] In the shape of my soul’s constraint The ache of the back The depth of sight before blur Degradation of memory Into a cartoon mythology I feel slip and i resist it But it is insidious eating away at What is not revisited. Age: middle passed, not yet elderly But the ghost of it foreshadowed [cymbal crashes end each measure for the next 8 measures] In each need to stop In each need to read fine print In cricks in tricks knees and such In touching with a shake Taking longer doing less Reflection Not a fade as some have framed But thresholds in the distance Circling in Like a fog that once was beautiful Turning cold mute and dulled Over decades and decades Of course the cliche Of days accelerating (Its almost valentines day again?) But i show where the time went This is seeing old Not being old Its to behold A fate You always knew to expect But was never prepared to experience It is a missed step A cough A dull throb which only gets worse But its not frightening Despite the description It falls on my flesh like a middle syllable In sacred word which must be spoke Reverent whispered to no one But still Observed serving its purpose Diffuse into influence Extended into circumstance As if Ahh Nevermind You’ll find out [sudden end]