Oldage Oldage

Lyrics

Has your fever finally hung you out to age? Cold in the culture of a one bedroom apartment. Your grey hairs laughing at the ones you took to bleach. Gloved, Creating parts between your scalp and yourself. Today, I lost a scar. It fell like feather from the shadow of my breast To the floor with its lock of most irreversible tissue. Healed to a seal in the ides of my manhunt. Proving barbed wire does not touch the flesh, It puts its rust to blood. Like a child is put to day from the red and warm water of womb In to the failing disposition of your kicked-in skin. In to the world and its manifold instruments of telling health From the drone of spending flesh to losing minds and wound-down hearts All seeing a persistence of the flesh Against what clocks clean might sink. He is pre-deceased. He is survived by his wife. He is doing dead leaf angels Autumn-hearted and un-young still. There is green on his grave. Death is a most acquired taste. Just as one's corpse is not fearsome. These are the grueling but certain results of all birth. The all-sprawling, nothing-much of your skull amongst the stars. And hydrogen. Big, motherfucking hydrogen. More meaningful than bacteria Is the teeming of your once-through of the flesh. Old age is invincible. Perfect, And most purposeful. It is the call of the child to the helm of mind for sinking As carried off by the whites of memory. Away from a single changing of the teeth Toward a slow exchange of fat cells with the death in front of them. It's the sophistication of the flesh Thinning to your frame, Adhesed over veins, Darkened by the suck decades of nothing but pumping. Will you die a slightly used death? Skin slackened with work At the elbows and throat. A hard angel So both infant and skeleton. Old age is a form. Soon, you will be wormed out. A simpler thing Of compounds And languagelessness.