seven standing ovations

i am growing older quickly now,

the aging thing seems to have speeded up.

it seems i have a limited time to discuss things,

the poems don't just write themselves you know,

the paintings don't just grow up suddenly overnight,

month after month, year after year.

(well, actually, some do).

so we have a bit of a dilemma here,

how to fix this aging in the body, this soul thing.

perhaps, i'll send for lorca, or maybe di prima

or harrison to help out with this.

and, when in doubt, we can always

try and find bukowski somewhere,

maybe he can come up with something,

tho finding him could just end up in more trouble,

what with the drinking and all.

i guess i'm mostly interested in the way

this plane lands now, how we make it down,

the one engine on fire, a full load of folks

screaming in its belly, fire trucks racing to our rescue.

actually, i'm thinking i'd prefer

tom waits at the palace theater

back in the early zeros here in minneapolis,

seven standing ovations.