Poem: I am old now

Bill in Beijing That Which Passes Passes Like Clouds

Posted in Poetry

I am old now

My face a weak mask

My words are lost things I have no

Fingers to describe

I am the smoke of yesterday

The ash of tomorrow

I am that which passes

like clouds

I am the noise that sounds

like tasting ink

I lay and wait

For the most dreadful of endings

Like a cactus

Waiting for the dew or a bullet

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