THE OLD MAN
Tobacco juice dripping on the floor.
The old man is silent
No sense of motion.
No deep ocean.
Get off your high horse
A line with no rhyme
Is bad prose or worse.
For some, Greek metaphor spews from the pen
To hell with them.
Give me a reference to modern day
Perhaps a Python quote
Or a Bill Murray retort
I like a philosophy with a good chuckle, a snort.
A sunset’s fading glow, a celestial black hole
Or that distance between you and I.
That long awkward silent pause between two lovers at odds
Can not fill a chasm separating two mountains
A rubber hose, a flaring nose, or the nubbies between my toes
Measures small to the inner lining of grandma’s mothballed clothes.
A desert terrain, a winter’s silent rain,
A yearning unfulfilled.
A crowded hall with no one at all
Sits a lone martini not shaken, not stirred.
A vacuum tube, a vacant room
Or the futility of whose right and whose wrong.
A parking lot, a hangman’s knot
That which separates the shoe from the ground.
A lover’s embrace, a rose to my face,
These fill the voids I have found.