Saturday, August 27, 2016

woke up with this in my head, composed:

The New Year comes in on its knees, and empty-handed; the dregs of midnight,  a moonless cloudy night; no stars either.  Every kiss feels hollow.

How could anyone possibly believe in January 1, especially if living in those places locked in tight with cold and fog and snow.  That December 31st party:  it's like something invented by a parent to console a post-Christmas-partum child ('and we'll have a BIG PARTY, with hats and bells and funny noises and kisses!  We'll drink fizzy stuff and it will be festive!)

The child, of course, being ourselves, the party just a promise,  something to look forward to, that keeps us moving along the relentless conveyor belt of life.


Gotta wonder what the hell I was dreaming about, to wake up to something so bleak!