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Remembering You

Remembering You

A ghostly flower blooming and withering,
(or blot) blinking with colors that strain to brightness,
to equal those of what were seen before;
fragments, with the music or plain utterances
attempting to be as loud (or as soft)
as what they really were...

But all in vain.

Blurred and ephemeral. Just for a haunting and fleeting...
Many times an unexpected visitor,
an intruder, inside...

What is complete and constant is that depressing spirit:

Void of form and details, yet lingering, encumbering,
dragging. Punctuated, highlighted,
by the thief that intermittently
gives, curses, and leaves

with a piece.

Old Guys Are Afraid of Tomorrow


Old Guys Are Afraid of Tomorrow


Old guys like to tell stories
That's how they communicate
That’s how they make love to the cosmos
That's how they push a pile
Of elephant vomit wrapped in experience
And call it wisdom
But you and I don't give a hoot
Wrinkles are no license
For grumpy nonsense
Take a pain pill
And leave us the heck alone.
Mark Antony Rossi is a poet, playwright and author of eight books.


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