I grow old ... I grow cold...
I shall explore the preservative benefits of cosmetic Retinol.
Shall I nurture mustachio flare? Do I dare
infest
a rave?
I shall flaunt hip-hugging cargoes, cultivate suave cachet...
I
have
joked
and in reproaching all I fear
provoked
wreathes of bruising
blue and grey
till Colonel Fitts comes calling ... then
away.
YOU ARE READING
There will be time
PoetryWARNING: 'There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions...
