All The Way Down - July 20 2025

 

All The Way Down

July 20 2025

Am I just imagining

that the land under my feet

is solid ground?

At least something to count on

in a wildly gyrating world.

Or is even that not fixed?

Because I’m told that space is expanding

and time relative;

and what else is there

aside from the 4 dimensions

we know of and can measure?

From my perspective, it’s contraction

all the way down.

I go out less,

my social circle shrinks,

and my horizon closes in

on this house

this room

this chair.

And not only does time go faster

the older I get,

but less and less remains.

So is regression next?

The second childhood

of creeping dementia

increasing dependence

wetting the bed?

And then will I shrink

into a toddler

fetus

hardened homunculus,

until my time comes to an end

and I don’t even take up space?

It’s the 20th,

and I have no idea

where July went.

Once, summer was forever

  — so long, we got bored,

my friends and I

sitting on the curb

idly tossing stones —

but now, the days get shorter

as if all summer wanted

was getting it over with.

Like an old movie,

where clock hands circle dizzily

and calendar pages flip.

I can see the camera zeroing in,

a close-up so tight

I see myself dissolve

into a blur of ghostly light.

Sigh. Another melancholic poem about ageing and the passage of time.

So really, one more poem about death, at least tangentially. Please accept apologies for my persistently morbid turn of mind!