By Marshall R. M. Hann
Submitted by Blessed23
Date: 2017 Jan 08
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I've resorted to searching through old words
or scrawled on restaurant napkins
when my phone is dead
and all I have is the waitress' pen and a dirty napkin
with the other side,
the picture of "of"
that will remain for my fading posterity,
my inept attempt at beauty and grace,
but let's say grace again
before we gorge ourselves
into a coma that we can't return from,
The picture of "of"'s austere
and humble grandiosity.
I get older and I can't seem to find a better way,
my skin wrinkles
and my feet tremble
when you are near.