Intimations of Mortality
by GC Smith
My joints complain
Complaints not against
that strong young athlete
who pushed feats of prowess
much beyond endurance limits
but rather against wear of time
My brain falters
It frequently farts
suffering nascent dementia
Irish style, remembering only grudges
while stumbling again to find my own name
and knowing that your name is lost to the ether
My heart speaks
Its murmurs
not pretty poetry
nor deathless prose
but rather coded messages
about time's inexorable march
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