2021: the first day of our new dead god

new years (morning?)
still feels
like old years
stained with nicotine
and spiritual indifference
i’m struggling to compose
our inevitable resolutions

swept up in a
beer and bourbon haze
and scattered along
rhythmic distortions
with toilet bowls
that resemble
astrological signs
the cats that are never satisfied
and a soft sadness looms

tonight the gods grant no favors
to members of the lost tribe

damn these rough and uncertain
confined and waiting
for better days
what  have they done to us?

not much time left
to script
this new
and they say
the end
is just a new
but i find myself
by the spirit of
tired resistance

everything seems
and i can’t seem to find
that sacred center of balance
or the words to write
this innocuous reality
into a satisfactory perfection



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