New Year’s Day 2015

Another year has passed,
and so begins the chorus
of the hopeful and the weary

A chorus from those
who hold in great reverence
neatly organized numbers
on little blocks

A lifting of the voices
of those who live
entrenched in melancholy
or the dream of what is called tomorrow

Tis New Year’s Day!
But today is like the one that proceeded it.

There is no magic
in the cosmos
that is the servant of time.

There is no salvation
or relief
in the arbitrary numbers
of the calendar

All those calendars
which have marked
so painstakingly
the length
of my life
have no greater significance
than to define me
as an old man.


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Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry

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