Poem #2,743 | This is my hollowing

This is my hollowing
into auld age – feel it
having no core – less
is my out-come – not
a Fitzcarraldo-esque
haul over a hilltop in
hope [no cigar or red
upholstered chair] – I
have no audience [or
wave-home-whores] –
less mud-drag shore
of failed re-launches
& known opera score
as a settled-on scene
[with time now mine
to profit from] – A far
bend turns sharp on
a map – I am warned