There Are Those Who Think Me Boring

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There are those who think me boring
There are those who think me droll
But I take all their judgements in stride
For I must stay true to my own soul

Their queries do not make me stir
For I no longer have anything to prove
But you better grip these sheets
Lookin’ lovely, hope you’re ready to move

Wasted my youth, obeyed all the rules
I’m enlightened; I’ve learned with time
These days I may be old & grey
But I’m still better than my prime

I’m A Solitary Figure These Days

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I’m a solitary figure these days
Although I’m too old to play the fool
Sometimes alone, through rarely free
No longer applying someone else’s rules

Quietly dancing solo these days
Who are we supposed to be then
You disdain my attempts at life
But it wasn’t God who sainted men

Not To Keep Returning The Subject To Myself

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Not to keep returning the subject to myself
But there are certain truths I must understand
I’m no one special, a mere footnote
A history to be written, though not as planned

Dreams & hopes that never came to be
A rakish poet nor grizzled old typesetter
Through the years & false daily realities
It is inexplicable the mundane became better

So I find myself with a specific freedom
To be able to move without any sort of cosmic retort
For I have faith in love, fate & ultimate grace
Allowed to live without any innate need to stop short

I’m Working On A Deliberate Sound

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I’m working on a deliberate sound
Tracking a feeling I’ve never found

Filtering & distilling a final abstract
Like passion was some sort of artifact

They’re still searching for their good luck
Let us dance holes in our old school Chucks

No need to worry about their errant thoughts
Let me strip naked – for I’m kinda hot

With the beat down to your toes
Secrets of my soul, I’ll cautiously expose

No Matter How Old I Become

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No matter how old I become
I’m still searching; I’m still seeking
Obtaining considerable sums
With any passion, go ahead & start peeking

I’m not one to judge an attitude
I can be sinful so I won’t go there
I’m no Christian Grey, but I’m no prude
If you come unannounced, you’ll find me rather bare

I’m Too Old To Chase You

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I’m too old to chase you
Regardless of beauty, understood
Taking a step back to see if you wish to continue
For I never want you to walk away for good

Times are tough- its not easy to love forever
I can’t guess how you feel or what it will take
But silence leads to a sharpened sever
I wish to stop this inevitable heartbreak

I’m not naive enough to think things shiny & new
But my pulse is weak; unsure what it can go through

Stretching Yoga To Hello Nasty

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Stretching yoga to Hello Nasty
Bending this body in awkward positions
Head bobs & an elderly b-boy stance
Personal history leads me to contrition

Doc says my ticker isn’t what it once was
My mind is young, but I’m not at my peak
Slowly degrading upon each sunrise
Not quite old, yet bordering on antique

On The Shores Of Ol’ Patagonia

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On the shores of Ol’ Patagonia
While the citizens did sleep
Youthful fear of affection
Yet into the woods, they silently creep

Don’t let on how you feel
For you might get what you want
The pain of admitting you care
& perchance it might forever haunt

The burden of carrying embarrassment
& possibly feeling regret this long
Thy youth’s clear true love
But hindsight tells me I was wrong

For I wasn’t brave enough to trust
Too busy being incorrect by name
Fear welling into my soul
But I loved her all the same

It’s not fair to bring up old times
Immaturity & self-reject are not a virtue
I don’t deserve her thoughts nor sentiments
In the end, never good enough for you

Still thinking of what might’ve been
Or an excuse to freshly misbehave
Angst & teenaged awkwardness
Take a shot & take it all to my grave

Working On This Beach Bod

Working on this beach bod
Lived my whole life up in my head
Trying to become something lovable
Society left me mostly ignored instead

Attempts to create an unique existence
Purging the dreadful; want something more
An authentic soul bent on sincerity
Giving you my all, but you’d rather have Thor

I can’t be anything that I’m not
I’m lifting weight, going for a run
Never listen to what a fool transcends
Getting old is not any fun

Let Me Get Out Into The World

Let me get out into the world
While everyone else is still in bed
Let me move these old bones
I need to get fresh air into my head

Too many stagnant mornings
With nothing to show for the exertion
Feeling low in my spirits
Like I’m a soul still prone to desertion

I need to discover a permanent solution
To rid my life of heartbreak & pain
I don’t want to struggle anymore
Results from my effort & not simply remain

Cold Coffee & A Stash Of Lost Dreams

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Cold coffee & a stash of lost dreams
A distant memory of those rail yards
But we weren’t ourselves with honesty
Not the renegades or anything that hard


Images of what we might yet become
Grabbing self-regard before it fades
Destroying their notions of modernism
Returning to polka dotted shirts & dark shades


We all have our morbid skeletons
The vague semblance of a broken soul
But somewhere are the clues to the truth
Somewhere when lightning meets a weary, old skull

Immune To A Power Surge

Immune to a power surge
I sit alone & quietly type
Not affected by technology
Refuse to be your modern gripe

I switched off my terrestrial radio
But I’ll still pound at these keys
I’m not cool or a trendy guy
I’m reserved, doing as I please

There’s never been an audience
Just a few genuine folks
Sharing myself sparingly
I’m better with these slow strokes

I’ll continue to conjure ideas
Preferring to use my typewriter
Nothing fancy; just a love of words
Old, but I can still pull an all nighter

Now That I’m Old…

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Now that I’m old, there’s no chance to be cool
I’m that creepy lurker passing the delicates isle
Finding myself lost in nebulous thought
Youth dropping their eyes while I try to smile

You can’t be friendly when you’re a certain age
Somewhere along the line, I missed my cue
Oblivious to the graffiti on the decaying walls
I’m slowly dying, more with each day that’s through

Stuck before I can be the wisened old fellow
Conversations with alter egos as I deliberate
Taunting life with my aggressive apathy
Father Time impatiently waiting for my cryptic fate

A litmus test for fragile character upon my days
Emerging from adulthood with wisdom in my head
Never again a victim to society’s whims
Pushing past expectations; my own hero instead

Rising higher than their own trite requirements
Still not accepted & still the silly old fool
Sketchy, weird & perpetually the outcast
Damn, there went my last chance to finally be cool

I’m Seeking A Truth

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I’m seeking a truth within these fragmented words

My thoughts won’t cooperate with how my fingers move

Typing on this old handmedown machine to transform

My mundane existence into a magical, deliberate groove

I am not afraid to expose the flesh of a wilted soul

There are no heroes in these parts, just broken misanthropes

Internalizing the segmented society & all the villains

Returning to coffee so black the void regains precious hope

Stepping Out Into The Light

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Stepping out into the light
My eyes can’t adjust to the sunshine
Night left me with nary a sleep
Stumblin’ home to all that’s still mine
Life comes at you hard & fast on the inside
Wondering when the pitches stopped comin’ in underhand
Won’t wallow in misery nor memory of elsewhere’s joy
These speeches fail to convey truth I can’t understand
Where do we go to return to the proper roads
Did I miss the signal for the game to truly begin
I’m old these days; confused by angles & trajectories
Yet I can still & once again wipe myself clear of my sin