by January 1, 2018 0 comments

In the hours past midnight
they sleep with prayer crumbs on parted lips
mapping when Jupiter, Venus and Mars will align

you lean on your bourbon
writing elegies on dark windowpanes
with shuttered ears
while cobblestones in dark narrow streets
catch rain’s grievance in puddles lit
with streetlight lies

they lurk in their own sleep-paralysis
listening to rats in corner bars gnaw spun memories
toasting a New Year refurbished

this city sprawls on thin skin
this city slurps remorse in straws rolled green
dreams drool from its carnal pierced and jeweled chin

red poppies will again kiss
blades of fresh grass on highway’s edge
and on a billboard, your name
once flicked like scream of insects on city’s shin
will hang loosely from a nail

under your eyelids, you will let them breathe
as they refill your veins with ink

editors note:

In the early hours of Nova Annum, we resolve to be ready for our muse to give us something with which to fill this year. – mh clay

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