December 31st, 10:13pm. It’s come to this, the night When promise sits with pain. Look, the glass just poured Reflects an eye, funhouse Large, a disembodied organ, By virtue of which novelty It may tell stories, may teach The violent wisdom of ancients, May gaze, grotesque, so deep A fish would have to learn To fluoresce in such black, Cold waters, or die trying. Empty the glass, then, yes?
January 1st, 8:09am. How ’bout this: morning, Again! — weak sun, but Sun, to be sure. Here We are. Maybe we hoped To be there, but we’re Not. Toss off the sheets, Greet what’s ours, offer up Odes to the still unwritten, Drive all the satellite roads, Abundant as motes meandering Down the young and spindly light. But first, remember, breathe. Steady in, steady out. Go. written on January 1, 2012