I’m growing old,
growing old,
with the incubus of
four score years
sucking my body and soul.

I started measuring up
my life with coffee spoons,
some moments filled with angst,
and some hyphenated
with the scintilla of
doubtful joy

I’ve no past to look upon,
no future to survive on
Became a compulsive etheist
with kafkaesque resignation fit
And sin and cocupiscence
for me are behovely.