Sometimes I'm struck down
with a case of Peter Hook face
years of wielding low hung bass
and running 10ks at a decent
pace; mean-
while what have you done?
Yes sometimes we men of an age
come on come all over
with a grimace resembling
Peter Hook face.
Halfway between a gurn and
a smirk, like
I'm not dead yet
but Christ it hurts.
Bearded men
sit in parked cars and stare into the distance
Bearded men
walk ahead of the wife and squawking kids
Bearded men
don't have time for this type of nonsense
Bearded men
die in increasingly hairy and manly ways
The old grey mare ain't what he used to be
hamster wheel, scrambled
eggs, anchor, soup.
His brain is a smoothie now
tapioca pudding at this point
vocal stim.
He's Flanderizing, keeps
repeating it like
it's a profound revelation.
He's on a looper
coping by trying to normalize
his stupidity.
His skull only houses rancid
ground meat
and broken light bulbs.
Big League Chew
like a third-rate cruise ship comic
brain worms, mashed potatoes.
His wig continues to morph.
He feels the need
to explain the 'joke'.
