Staring at the
rain puddle type of day, New Year’s Eve
Slack jawed
gape-hole of what was this that drove through here
The brilliant
tongue daring the capital T truth of the matter
As David Wallace
might offer, the manifesto of the everlasting gobstopper
To trammel net
tacticians herding schools of consensus and nonsense
Comingling and
making out long enough to stimulate arousal
In the
augmentation of expectation and polarity jostling
Like a burlesque
dancer’s tangled legs and an accountant's
Testing the
boundaries of art and logic, science and dreams
To pose
hypotheses and laughter that what feels good and is good
Might converge,
words in the family-sized serving platter
Passed around
the table might suffice for now, in the moment
The dangling
bewilderment and distraction of discussing the parade
Of intermittent
consistent depression or addiction or masturbation patterns
Or the need to
be at work on time or not that tad bit level of antiauthoritarianism
Creaming over
the warm pile of mons pubis and phallic head
That grand bit
behind the scenes of why anyone is interested in hearing
What anyone else
has to say or pushed that millimeter towards novelty
Over that line
of monotony carbon-copied serving tray utensils
Hand to mouth
motions wrote and pelted with the boom-boom of midnight firecrackers
Sending
star-streams like purple dragon spit willow trees bleeding out the night sky
Star wars
enlivened and chatting enthralled and emboldened to be a human being
In a moment with
another human being rather than sequestered in that god awful pit
Of depression or
ache-gravy pasted in that lack of will to even want to be around anyone
The
tone-deafness to the celebrations where alcohol becomes priority the brouhaha
Touchscreen of
being somewhere to numb the sensation away in besotted drink-binge
The paradoxical headroom
of New Year’s Eve recollecting as much and as little
Of the solar
revolution that was for the one approaching on some secular arbitrary photo-op
pit-stop
That instead of
taking the damn pocket-phone snap-selfie the self came to be
Using four hands
and two mouths to say I love you peering all eyes into a puddle floating there
between
Gleaming and
brilliant striking the tone-gong of the universe
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