I don’t take care of the spirit –
there is no mantra startling enough
to untangle the deep freeze from my structure.
Desayuno Americano: huevos estrellados
for me and gnarled chatter with the fam
Miss Coney Island is generous with her face
as well, we march on. More bodies
this year snarl in one another’s traffic
before the ultimate surrender. More
likely we are locked in small rooms
have traded place with ‘skinned social angels’
and once again capsize, but slowly. Once
the balloon room was smaller, now it is big
Also, there are less balloons.
And fewer balloons, and more waiting, and
terrible moments with the self. Didn’t these
furniture of the house immolate, in dreams
in ‘the visage of war’, as all my bad choices become.
The drums too loud too bad, the wine too good
too late; only one song to hear in 2013. Better
be a great one.
Better be by Randy.
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