I Have A Dog Named Coda

in Poetry

I’m too old for this
as only the very serious
excites me as the previous
hymns too dim these days,

and on Spotify I petrify
singing along to the songs
that once stoned me,
an erstwhile high of bye bye

those delights, now not quite
tied tight, yet wound to wound
homogeneously, a tuning fork
reverberant in the twilight

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.

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