Old Man’s Last Day On Earth

“I think I’ll retire now”

Said the atrophied old man

His ancient voice all husked grain and shattered glass

As those telltale words

Crept from his mouth’s gossamer canyon

For he was at war with time’s decimating beasts

Whose phantom jaws dug violent fires

Beneath his wizened flesh sheets

All fare for grief’s conquering fathoms

Skinned soul deep

And so he collected his dust blanketed books

And bandaged his groaning fingers

Exhausted from the year’s tombstone pace

Kept awake each night by his coffin dry coughs

Which rattled like bloody thunder

Leaking from each black balloon lung

Ready to pop

For the buzzards

Under stained glass stars

Like hungry sparks peeking behind sullen nights

Thus decided he that this year was a draw

In that it bloodied his fists

But still taught him to crawl

And he was pleased with such bruised sentiment

And stepped bent but forward towards bald funeral sky

Drinking long the last few drops

Of sinking lemon sun

His bronzed goblet now retired

For he had outrun the devil

With final leathery foot steps

Tattooing sacred victories onto unleavened ground

That even a universe of horned tragedies couldn’t erase

So his last day on earth was one hell of a party

And now he was home.