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Homo Erectus Speaks Out

I get up and stumble to the coffee pot.
The first thing I say to myself is my age,
as if the disbelief can be suspended being half awake;
the full bladder, the cold feet, the gritty cheeks-
O don’t even consider the mirror,
I might stumble in and drown.

When did this begin,
this ritual of waking to an update?
Yes, I’m still seventy-one
and still not used to my skin.
Yes, I’m still hungry to feel,
because what is life if you don’t feel?
And I feel like ripping the wallpaper off,
like jumping in the trees,
like smelling the juices of fruits.

But after ritual mathematics
my mind goes to its normal home.
I start sniffing around like a dog.
I need an orgasm.

Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


Another fabulous poem, your title is truly brilliant. You certainly have spoken out. Oh I love when poems are so unpredictable. You could not have described better in your first stanza. Loved all three. You're a bit of s rock star.

Thank you...Teddy

When I ask questions very much like this. WTF? Who is that in the mirror? I sympathize with your assessment of body and wonder if at 72, I know anything at all about growing old. [My mother is 93]. A very good look at the mental process of waking up and wondering; "How did I get here? This is not my fine house, this is not my beautiful wife, this is not... and the days go by... ~Geez.

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Hello Emou, yes, we all ask ourselves these questions, but you've put in deftly written verses. I like "drown in the mirror" and "ripping the wallpaper off", made me laugh. No nits, except my usual boring ones, tighten it up a little.
Enjoyed? Yep. Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

Great last line. Who doesn't, from time to time? But it's not always worth the effort....

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