THE DAY BEFORE NEXT YEAR
let’s start with the utopian sidegrinder…
today’s the day for toppling statues,
smashing busts, those too perfect
presentations of ourselves.
we’ve had too many wine and Cokes
(or not enough), glasses scattered with
fingerfuls—a color between burgundy
and cola.
and we’re all shouting,
and we’re not clamped down,
and next year i will change the battery.
and next year i will speak german to myself.
and next year i will walk without my skin
to where the moon cannot follow.
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