I can’t
Seem to imagine
How it would feel
To grow old.
Brittling bones.
Rusty joints
Even oil cannot loosen.
Paper-thin skin,
Puckered like sear-suckered slacks
In the summertime. 
Fleeting memory,
Losing track 
Of thoughts
Sight blurring,
Words slurring.
Sound drowning
Out of your ears
As they’re flooded with years and time.


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