I don’t think that I’ll age well.
I was counting on poetry
to keep me young
like some kind of island or some shit
that gives the mind
a much needed respite… but look at Cummings:
never worked a straight job;
traveled to Europe frequently;
given a generous allowance;
had someone else father his child;
and among his friends were the likes
of W.C. and Ezra.
In many ways a
Lucky
Lucky man.
Yet then again,
even he didn’t age well.
Became frail in old age
hateful of Hollywood
jews
critical of welfare
conveniently
forgetting
his own
benefactors.
But then again
the army did put him
in a detention center.
His wife kept their
daughter
from him.
She didn’t even
know that E.E. was her dad
until she tried to
seduce him.
Perhaps my only hope lies
in the fact
that there’s no poetry in me
and perhaps that
isn’t such a bad thing
for even poems
tend to be nailed to a cross
and hang like
a piece of half-cooked bacon
and are ultimately
easily forgettable….
Even the good ones.
–J. Claudius Cloyd