at 63

Iggy shouts ‘cut -- take two!’


Now deaf,
I shake my head
out of a deep sleep
Realizing I’m not in a rehearsal hall

But at home,
crosswise in a hammock
off the
east coast
of Costa Rica

staring up the tall wooden leg
of a banana tree


addled, fragments from the past
unwillingly enter my mind
like stray frequencies

in unsystematic streams

wrinkled, I cannot stop
These chemical
dog ears
from forming

like a book
read non sequentially

I keep falling into another story
Unable to trace my way back ho

Falling deeper
As each chapter closes in on me


still feels a lifetime away

at 63