Author Carl Rakosi He's youngand lies with womenin his imagination.The apprehension of deathgrips him by the neck.He'll go as close to an old manas to a blubberwashed up on the beachWhat's his offense?He will not look.The face is too old.He will not look. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments