just a body parsing through

in a bad temper

pacing off time doing the Sunday puzzle

in pen — in Sanskrit —in tongue twists

I’m not sanguine to see the years

peak by so quick along this old bone parkway

death is slick like pouncing mad they say

since passion parted ways with hanky panky paths

you might recall

pause a second wait a minute

say what’s with this hunger I feel

perhaps a sign of starve or fast

ball — last year at the seder my uncle Irwin

pursed his lips

I thought I would pass out

the matzohs

it did not help my mood