When the down, dark, dismal blues set in,
Just imagine how many people old man world has been.
Forever games of cat and mouse across the greenblue turning of his spine
The myriad creatures in their lonesome spotlights (some have come to boast, others to shine)
All the broken, crippled, lovesick, lungsick, hungdick, pervert, inert, and deranged
Each season come as tall, white, long-winged birds who cast their shadows over mountain range
And how many mustaches can you imagine old man world has grown?
Only every salted, peppered length and style and color ever upper lip has known.
Silverfox mustaches frosted on the rims of cold glasses of beer
Browndog mustaches soaked like ragged mops with lovers’ tears…
And when you’ve grown very old and you lie down with your hurts inside your pockets and your stories and regrets,
And it doesn’t quite feel like it’s time to close your eyes just yet,
Old man world may smile a weary smile on you with myriad shining eyes
And tell you, “Ah, goddamnit… Oh, you are so young, so young. Try hard to remember when you rise.”