Age

No sneaking upon, silent cat paws
Age is quite blatant in approach.

Just now
under the ribs
Age started with a pin prick jab
then the invisible bastard went to work.
Trying to bust, bust into my gut
Twisting me to the side
Twisted to a cracking, breathless, cracking pain
Leaving me gasping for a slip of air.

Surprisingly, as quickly it came,
it also went away.
Leaving me asking: what just happened?

It’s Age,
on the outside
looking back to me
looking in my eyes
forcing someone, my-self,
to look back inward.

Age,
Leaving marks upon body
Writing lines of tales in skin
Leaving notes, pangs in Calypso tunes
It is the master of the tempo,
in temples concerning the body.

Showing me a truth:
I haven’t known myself for years,
only a wrong pre-conception of who I’ve been
To discover I am not: the sum of past decisions
No
I am actions reacting to worlds’ whimsy.
Engaging, myself in a winding down dance.
Passing my body to elsewhere
as my mind wanders, becoming scattered
as my spirit rests, becoming sleepy.

Age is a teacher
the lesson: nothing matters except style.
Becoming whimsy
tumbling within
spinning of prayer wheels
of actions themselves.

Age the metronome to practice against
ticking each hellfire heavenly blue moment
giving the tempo, of our passing lives.

Casey Kochmer August 2004

Personal Thoughts About the Poem