Worming my way through the apple you dropped
I have learned I have not lost the thing with aging. I am old. I am old. though the still tight skin betrays me I do wear my trousers rolled and baggage beneath the eyes that you call lazy.
Living in the soot of a fire I never started feels like phoenix feels so “fuck it” it’s always fruitless in this furnace I’ll likely burn this out of earnest
for some sweat and new shadows.









