Fools

I am an old fool.
I am all too aware. But you
Should take a look at your agèd ruts,
Your woody rings, your mental spi
r
als.

Punctured anxiety spills from a sack, fluid lungs,
Esophageal exit.
Now I can count the rings coiling your throat:
Tree years.
I see many, but you could've duped me,
Telling me that you saw many fewer than that.