The Winter’s Wind
by gm
Spencer Gordon
— January 1, 2015
Keats, Wordsworth, AViSON, Tupac,
ex-Jackass star Ryan Dunn: they all
claimed the same sly things: New Year’s Day
was Optimized for Suicide
& Wings. It’s all sable stars & Arcturus skies,
the lonely tear-sucking Hoover of space
& that penile moon who thrives on
lovers’ pain. You Auld Lang Syne yourself to bae’s place
in cupidity’s clanging streetcar, & oh: what a fuck
day you’re gonna be. So start a New Year right
by unfollowing those who don’t follow Bing
& forgive us our trespasses, those Lena Dunham nights
of glassy apps that read, “You Better Work,”
“Fuck the Police,” & “Support Pirate Bay.”
Alright:
I’d rather be alive than dead
I GUESS, & that’s all I’ve moaned & kerned
from sixteen years of Sega Genesis in bed
& slobbing your inane numinous Tays …
So adios my tangy brothers, my booze-couched
sisties, pouring Red Bull into pizza ports to toast
no shame, an apogee, or a Something-Gate.
It’s another New Year’s Day, the bells all ringing out
like it meant something.
pluslike for penile moon…