Yesterday's Gone

First and foremost, I will not raise the roof
even though that resolution thing was failure.
Butter on bagels, or an occasional F-bomb
really is the tip of a snowbound fir,
(utterly imprisoned on a remote plateau,
  and that I resist cliché shows I am not at sea).
Rabid dogs will not exacerbate my bitter.
Yesterday’s a song written by Paul...ah Yesterday.

It’s a brand new month!  Groundhog Day and broccoli.
Newness is a rumor on a promise of a condition;
time to print a new ticket assuring an adequate seat.
Even footing requires a decent shoe.
Noise conforms to the wants of the wanton.
Turn! Turn! Turn! as the Byrds and Ecclesiastes assert.

Neither wind, nor rain, nor constant crave can
enervate my newfound resolve!
Whereas within the urge may kick and claw!

Rheumatism’s voice is a razor,
egging me to merely lounge.
Salient syllables, though, slander my ears.
Orchestras proclaim will with an upbeat tempo,
loud to any ennui commissioned by lull;
(ungulates clip-clop across my oak bureau.)
Truck and trailer, a semi on a one-way street;
imagine the turn, the curb-constricted radii.
Onward with a new set of days, into
nib and nub of further resolution.

27 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
February 1, 2014