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”