I pound on the walls that bind me here
but they never lessen
my Age, Death, Insight …
the incandescent realizations of chances lost,
of the permanence of change,
they come and dance to me
when I stare in the mirror
ever step is more fraught with irrevocability
as I go forward
because I have so much more to lose
its always less the open slate now
and more the written Word … the patterns born,
and crucified, and calcified,
and finally … owned.
And though I pound on my walls
and drink the wine of these thoughts
into the depths of night…
it is.
04-29-80/2
— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
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on Tuesday, April 29th, 1980 at 12:02 am and is filed under 1980, Long Beach.
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