Age is drizzling dew; earth retires, and frailty is set. Poor soul, make your bed; empty your chamber pot: no longer shall the Last Sacrament quench your soul’s longing. Or, shall you outstay your offspring? Owls have mounted on wings of mockery where pretty bats strew, preening for pageantry; there they sneer behind shattered mirrors… Continue reading ELEGY TO DOTAGE


With our backs against the wall We stand to take the fall As we fight for our survival We betray one another in process Armed with qualms and swords Battles with alarms and words It’s no time to rest or trust But how do you fight one of your own?