— January 1, 2015

So, to the other side | May I welcome you here? | What are the other sounds? | on the other side | of the other mirror? | All that stuff was yesteryear | no need to think of it | Hey, Champagne Boy! | Hey, Vodka Girl! | Yes, there is a pretty disco | I like the standard of glitter around now | Tireless horses in our bloodstreams | like the footsteps | of indigenous peoples | beginning to run | faster and faster | Hey! | Hey! | Hey! | I don’t care | for this version | may we hear | the original? | Hey, slender boy! | take off my clothes very slowly, fucking | appreciate these moments, how they | formed like pearls | Hoi, fat girl! | bite down on these pearls | spit them out | as you see fit | Okay! | It’s not paradise | never would be | never could be | no one | really knows that address | I like the way their | names slide over my skin | none of them | quite sticking | When the tongues come | marching in ranks like | Mao’s postmen | can you hear | the noise of tomorrow’s | revision | sliding into place? | This is a box | The idiots | stay in here | the romantics | get out | and those who were | so superior | and laugh at the very | idea of boxes | well, they won’t wish anyone | HAPPY NEW YEAR

So the horses begin | to run out of steam | Floating for so long, the fireworks | start falling | big time | We put on our dead suits | no sound of footsteps on these stairs | Lay claim | to the next few seconds | isn’t that | enough? | Weary from building walls | out of mirrors | we’ll lie down for a while | My daughters are running | faster towards the dawn | they’re calling | Come on! | but I just have | to let them go | can’t fit the new New World | into my schedule | Instead | I’ll slink away | into the old world | of sleep and 2015 | has anyone | made it back from there? | It’s not paradise, never would be | never could be | no one | really knows the address | Some think | it’s ahead | some think | we need to go back | As for me | I’ll stay here | let the years | rise and fall | around me | No one’s heard | about this place | Why don’t you | call my sons | call my daughters | and give them this number | tell them | This is where | a real love begins | ask them | to drop by | and while I’m waiting | for their answer | why don’t you | put down your things | take off your coat | turn off your phone | and keep me company?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)

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