I am, I am, I am, I am,
Old.
At this age, T. S. Elliot
Wore his trousers rolled.
I am looking forward to becoming mould.
Devolved.
My plan is to buck the trend
Of evolution,
And de-evolve.

You may say
It is a backwards step.
I was a monkey once,
Then a sentient sapiens.
I walked upright.
Then, as a child, a dog,
Before I was a boy,
I walked on all fours.
I still do not know why.

Then, as a teen,
I have no idea what I was.
A long, lean rambling rose.
Not a boy and not a man.
Scared of everything and fearless.
Then work.
I had no idea what that was.
You want me to do what?
Why?

Then the best bit so far.
A wife and a child.
There was life before.
There was life after,
Those two events.
The after was better,
By far.
But work was bad.
Work made me sad.

Then I made art.
Art made me, not sad.
But in retrospect,
Of ten years’ work,
Also a bit mad.
And the mad bit is good.
Mad me at last made sense.
I can wear my trousers rolled.
In madness I am, at last, bold.

And ready to be mould.
In the ground, I am, and will be.
Some subterranean structures
Of my soul, now stick out.
I am descending into the ground,
Where words mean nothing.
It does not matter,
That I am matter,
And nothing more.

Because nothing matters
Any more.
At least not like it did.
Approaching mould,
Has made me bold.
Not what I was expecting
I admit.
I worry less.
I laugh more.

But inside.
I laugh at myself.
I am full of voices laughing.
My own company
Keeps me
Performing
My place in the world
Star and stagehand
Both I am, and all.

All nine lines
In nine verses,
The mathematics of the world
I am.
I will add up,
To 81.
Eight and one
Are nine.
I will go as a child.

And start again.

I am, I am, I am, I am
Forever,
Old.
Becoming mould.