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7 January 2009 21:40The broom of midnight sweeps 2008 away with the rest of the garbage. 2009 is a clean room that already looks untidy to me. There’s a whole carton of milk available to cats who want it. My words are clipped, unable to fly.
It’s hard to shout into the phone what this year is supposed to be. I have four bars of reception and they’re all on special. A time for standing stones. Let’s call on the priests for blessings. If they don’t answer, let’s call on ourselves.
The bears are wrestling again. A fur coat of a month that demands that I stay home while work changes. I’m at the wrong end of the telescope but I can see myself waving. I’ve plugged in the speakers and set up the stereo. Now all I have to do is press record.
Competition is over. The ballots are in. This is a whole other kind of race. The long snout of a dog, the arching back of an old horse, claw marks in the snow. I’m painting a self-portrait morality in shades of Dorian Gray, allusions to youth but I feel the ribbon at the end of the race breaking like a spine.
I stole home base years ago but I’m still running.
tags
It’s hard to shout into the phone what this year is supposed to be. I have four bars of reception and they’re all on special. A time for standing stones. Let’s call on the priests for blessings. If they don’t answer, let’s call on ourselves.
The bears are wrestling again. A fur coat of a month that demands that I stay home while work changes. I’m at the wrong end of the telescope but I can see myself waving. I’ve plugged in the speakers and set up the stereo. Now all I have to do is press record.
Competition is over. The ballots are in. This is a whole other kind of race. The long snout of a dog, the arching back of an old horse, claw marks in the snow. I’m painting a self-portrait morality in shades of Dorian Gray, allusions to youth but I feel the ribbon at the end of the race breaking like a spine.
I stole home base years ago but I’m still running.
tags