The Last Poem

The old Aqualung
settles in a corner
with a resigned cough
Memories inked on his face
and a bottle in his hand
this chapter is ending soon
see you later
see you later
If I see you at all

done

this is a fine mess
traveling through the sticky syrup
of idleness
stripped of options
resigned to moving along
this strange yellow flow
drags me through tunnels
neither cold nor warm
just sheaths
for a dull blade