#30:

Deconstructed Ours
I will throw your dust out the window
To let it breathe in better chambers,
You of narrow faith.
Happy new year!
You of deprivation arachnid.
Happy new year!
You of count to seventeen forever
Taking lethargy steps towards the lighthouse
That warily presses its rotating nose towards dying sun.
Happy new year!
You of explosion.
That walks among the seventeen ladders
Of my former being, my former
Existence, you of the one and only
Watering hole in North Dakota,
Of "soundness" in Bismarck,
And I contain dark, until I hear light:
Happy new year!
Then comes the slow burst.
Because of the illness and the then-and-what-is-now and
The new;
The emptiest promise of insufferable business'rs
Who, somewhere amid the confines of a dusty street,
Perch themselves atop a black penthouse:
Seventeen yells from one room,
And seventeen more yell from another.
They meet together in a chorus of
Auld Lang Syne and a glory-swell of
Happy new year!
amid the ball drop.
And the tick of the paramount clock.
Seventeen cries for a paramount begin.
Seventeen cries out in paramount anguish.
Inside the door, there's How-bout-that-Weathertalk
of a single bedbug who still roams white sheets.
"I know a fumigator."
"Ha; Don't let him bite..."

The dust.

I will throw his dust out the window
To let it breathe in better chambers.
Him of narrow faith,
Happy new year!
Happy his year;
Deconstructed ours.

~-~