September 22, 2023 or Writing Exercise #2

scroll, read, scroll, poem of the day, suzi garcia, her sentences are not quite for me, so i search for words, tulle, doyenne, melliflous, nothing connects, just esoteric ink on a screen, survey surroundings, dark parking garage, in the distance, corepower yoga next to scandinavian designs, sweat and furniture, both closed, friday night in san mateo, sitting because it hurts to walk, same old song, reminds me of motown music, the 60’s used to be yesterday, like dancing to the Four Tops at family parties, now motown is dirt, as in, old as, i’m less young too, new phase of life for sure, i’m the old guy waiting in the car, writing on my iphone, trying to tell the truth.

Summer Beard

Whiskers start in June
mostly black, some gray
pushing through skin
like sunflowers they emerge
carefree, unrestrained by razors
of other seasons
when they are scraped away
like speckled truth
man’s primitive nature hemmed.
Summertime, I let them grow for days
like a backpacker searching
for my lost youth.
Long hours of shadowy sun
my face like time
standing still.