What old men love
as expansiveness contracts
the boundaries of their life
their time
like a receding tide or hairline
leaving exposed anemones or liver spots
to bake in the sunshine of neglect
dry-out, scorch, peal and flake
like a high desert lake bed
all hope burrowed deep
clock ticking
on an increasingly futile wait
for a diminishing return
all that is left
is hard and bitter
their only passions
are distrust
prophesying doom
sowing the fear
a lifetime given
to collect wisdom
in favor of harboring lies
nurturing falsehoods
milking assumptions
the old men scoff and sneer
consumed by passing years
the old men snort and jeer
wrapped up within their fears
others, younger
younger others
passing the gluttering fluorescence
they do not understand


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