Old men are awful

 Old Men Don’t Write Poetry


All the words have been rubbed raw

I love you is a phone bye bye 

A horror of fucks I never asked for

We don’t get hard-ons much anymore

Which must mean no passion anymore


You have no idea how many rules

I can break on my invalid couch

Words I know you don’t know the meaning of

Every rusty bolt in our movie coffin

You won’t exhume us


It is not sexy what rot we face.

Know this breaks every poem rule

But funny I have done more than any of you 

Know the rules in the first place

Before breaking every one


Old men don’t write poetry because they can.

Should stop here

But won’t

I know iambic pentameter

Dactylic hexameter

And I lie down and sigh waiting

For the willow by the carriage shed

I saw live and die in less than my own life


Is this an old man poem?

No. Old men don’t write poems

They just hide in corners they can no longer defend


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