Insignificant

 

a small, out of the way

pile of me, this, whatever,

not getting in the way, at least

rejoicing in all the things I don’t

do anymore, like work, drink, 

worry about the survival of 

relationships, jobs, life itself.

“This is a wreck of human rind

with one white eye 

and one black eye,

and the eyes of his eyes 

are as lost as you’ll find.”  (cummings)

No!

Old age becomes me…

not carrying around useless baggage

not dwelling on points that have no point

in the basic space of timeless awareness

at one with somethinglessness

or, maybe it’s the pot.