Gonna Ghost …so starts the repost.

in Poetry

Self Serving Time

I’ve had an alias
and an alibi
and spent some days
in a dungeon of two
make it three—four
pick any damn number

But quantifying ain’t
about everything
unless you rush
to paint blush
the digits

-only-

as some will sum
stanza one
says it all

aren’t they captured
in high relief
our final tally
a trompe l’oeil
the bottom line
an asterisk
that denotes
approximation


One Day At A Time

I’m going to start doing Sundays sober
with the Times unread
and the game unwatched
and pass on the beach
to stay off-line
and out of the bar

And if negating Sunday proves easy,
I’ll random walk a week
day
to annul, for instance,
Thursday, which
I’ve never really
cared for

On Sunday, after baseball, I take up song lyric writing. No foolin’. Moon and June to soon discover, same as last Sunday, that I have little talent in the area. Code, I can’t either. I sing others’ songs and use others’ apps. So it’s off to a small batch bourbon and the London Review Of Books. Where I read about others’ books.

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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