anOther Alonesome Love Story ( In A Life of ill Successions)

 


december's beach,        the oceanwater is
             ' refreshing'         almost making
the heart-failure              trip of 16 miles
almost worth it's             weight in exhaustion

nothing new, but             why'o'why should there
be?       the birds               mind their business in
innocent spontaneity,      The few good, well-meant
peoples (of 'me')                have no innocence t spend,
deep'endent on                upon the our hourly credit-score
compilations, so                the waves and currents are
gentle today, even             though no one dares 'go in'
without a Wet Suit.             I take my near-naked bod(y)
into the briney green         (wit a bit'o white foam) just
as a conversation piece,      but never one  I'd be likely to
hear.
So............the doctors           of my age-old old'age, say
that all they have to              say is inconsequential,  as, well
"it could be worse....          you must be Here for a per-pose"
 
(or perhaps awaiting              a porpoise).  

To-day can be just as             well like it is 'tomorrow', when
Old Death come sliding          in-to me a'lonesome room, or
perhaps i'll be proActive         and take this shunned (o'sorry, my illusion)
ass to that piece at the           edge of thee Worlde, & give it the
remains of whatever this         love       could        might'a      (have)    been



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