Old Ain’t Yet

The newt through my skin
has become closer to a lizard.

I realize that’s obvious
but it still moves through me like a
screen catching all that’s large enough
in my brain

Al’s Year of the Cat soothes me along
on this wooden chair
I gaze at the page and dream

Well, half-dream.

You may change the way I feel
but not what I am
but that’s what has me, eh?

You can move to the park
and recreate, but really?
The space is just air and dirt after all.
The trees you can ignore as transitory.

But a beautiful transitory.

The time shifts and I know who
the words are
but not the chain links.



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