May I say the world is sad,
despondent in my blue eyes
behind the wire-rimmed glass
reflecting the outside space
and green tree parts before me.
Thin hair short and gray
to match the beard
that hides some of my face
from the sun it’s become
allergic to ever since
absorbing Cylence
to control the flies on cattle,
my careless machismo
worn for thirty years.
We wear some mistakes
on the flesh, the rest reside
deep inside.
drycrikjournal 