New Year

RamJet Poetry


I do not live

last day of the year

it is like a little death

rough brush, burlesque

settles in my bones

old spectre dropping dreams

in spite of my screaming

I do not like the end of the year

it’s too heavy, flaunting the blues

in cursive

graffiti on my center that don’t come off

nether wind crawling

outside the view

is the same one

as last year

I fear, my dear, my tears

do not want the savage

drop-down slap-back kissing


the champagne wet dream

on my face and chest

recall the last to fall

uptown diamond souled

hustle with a 10 million dollar ball

I do not want

the finish of the year

for an end to me

an ends to be

the mirror is never more clear

spent truisms corrode

bent love shoulder

quake to the time of harvest

slate-colored fornicators

afflicting my ambitions


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