*good evening, all boulevard freaks (2012)*

tis the eve of new year’s and the snow lays ‘round
we stand and await the glorious sound
of ten numbers, three of which beg to be found
to be the almighty wind keeping you underground

and so we are counting down moments of time
just portions of patterns we’ve placed in a line
to depict a procession of that which passes by
and leads us to lending our shapes in the night

oh how the ball hangs spinning in sight
a grand opposition to the cold winter’s night
as it glints and it gleams from atop that building, so high
it’s falling; we’re breathless; we are brazen and nigh

now off with the corks of the bottles, champagne
now in with the alcohol flooding our brains
now kiss me, you imbecile. i can’t remain
with the thought of last year as it’s melting away

12:05 and the counting’s long done
the music is louder; the party’s begun
through hours of dancing and drug induced love
those visions of the new year are nothing but fun

on bottles and breathless resolve on my tongue
on blunts to be passed ‘round the circles of grunge
on bathrooms and bedrooms now strewn with cocaine
on faltering judgement; inhibitions be tamed

the end of the night and the morning has dawned
recycling litters the grass on the lawn
the floors are all covered with bodies, asleep
as visions of the new year dance through the street

now breakfast and coffee and water and weed
now you’re feeling much better but need some more sleep
now off to your bed and, recalling last night,
you dream of how maybe this year’s yours and mine

and so you awake at a quarter to ten
with water, more weed, and some food and some friends
or perhaps you’re alone and perhaps you are thinking
of how maybe, perhaps, we all should quit drinking

it’s january second and you’re back to the grind
back to alarm clocks and work nine to five
back to beginning your day with a grimace
back to the thought that it should be easier than this
back to the watching of congress, so lame
back to the president blowing the game
back to a world where guns are a right
back to believing the end is in sight
back to the laws where love is demeaned
back to the bombs dropped by the machines
back to a country whose government reigns
with cold corporate interest and greed all the same

call me a cynic and i’ll call you naive
i’ll keep merry christmas
you can have new year’s eve

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