I have reached an age where everything seems aged
from spotted hands to the variety of toe nail.
I guess in a lifetime all turns odd and phased.
Another hammering of the pail.
Shall I place a bucket round my head and bang away
to confuse me into thinking my blinking eyes
are now and nothing is to stay?
All passing a dizziness of skies?
No, I must remove the din and puke.
Call the unreal self-imposed ennui.
I am and so is the whale’s fluke.
Realize my dependence on the Big Me.
Me
Published in Poetry