Not no more. Part won.

I enter old into everything now, my jeans

barely see the wash, my face

rarely the razor…

NOW its very true…

although it always felt this way.

Only old dogs come to visit

the rocks that lead to my home.

Looking for bones (not my own).

No typewiter, not no more,

no more paper-skyscraper…

Why doesn’t the sea come and visit

my rocky shore…?

The cow moo’s, the cats knows

your door leads to the land of not no more

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