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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