A Peculiar New Year's Eve Revisited
---By Maya and ChiAn
There were no firecrackers,
There were no red eggs,
A day drenched in February
Hot Chocolate
In a glass of milk chilled;
A cube of ice crow
Singing Siamese Sycamore
Godsend brushes
Drawing a smile upon your browse
Painting a tile upon your house
On the river banks
Muddy cradles sinking
Lead washed limestone minds
Drawing in abstract signs
Pointing towards mad chauffeurs
Driving a gold plated Manchester golf
Cart in supermarkets with seats for infants
Growing up in the Tropic Of Cancer
Wildly spreading news of the coming
Christ playing Hindu checkers
In the shadow of a computer screen;
Frosty falcon veils
Concealing steely sight
By a clever design
Stolen from the masked man with a bamboo fan in his hand
Fooling the lion dancers
To climb up a ladder leading
To a cardinal pack of mice
Thought to bring auspicious suspicious malicious delicious
Candies which no longer taste as sweet
Or bitter gourd growing
Beside plots of watermelon velvet
Primitively printed in brown
Maimed crystal churches
Drying up on a wrinkled flower
Wondering where the others have wandered
Eleven of them arriving in a dress
Stictched and sewn together
On this day which is no different
From an old year shuffling out the door
To a new pathway with mare litter on the floor
Puke dripping down the walls
Defecated by ranch gutter tenants
Worth no more than the rats hiding under the garbage
Containers filled with ruptured dreams
Collapsing a sea opened and sentenced
To be a fisherman or to be a kingfisher
Scaling Mt. Horeb
With magic staffs removed from brooms
A rose garland funeral procession
Enlightened by mourners
Employed from the depths of hypocrisy
Frightened by alcoholic
Melodrama coffin given a joust
On mahjang tables and dinner chatter
Cloaked in black wings
Broken from a white truth
Slowly descending to the core of morality
Missing a T.
To be inserted
Between reason and bigotry
Between mountains sold and stories told
Between rainbow gold and widow's cold
Faraway from the lost shore
Further than Saturn laughter
Is there hope?
Is there America?
This end of the road
Clouded as a blistered toad
Praying for candy lollipops
Losing their flavors in a myth
Composed as a canon
Exhibited in museums
Built out of wax castles
Disappearing under Persian rugs
And then eve appeared
To be a spider's sting
More deadly than poison.
There is to be no more childhood flights
Thinking about years coming and going
As seasonal gusts churning
Within my heart bleeding graveyards
Being resting grounds for mockingbirds
Pecking at Vulcan worms in the dusk
How much is a tael of gold?
How much is a flash of lightning?
How much is a grain of sand?
How much is a second son?
How much is a dime chime?
How much is a moment of silence?
How much is your orange tambourine?
How much is a fallen star?
How much is the man on the tree?
How much is an ointment river?
Running under slick spank modernization
Excommunicated from his tribe
Left to be food for wolves
Howling atop a salient crown
Plain and made out of apricot hair
Rare as a speck of dust
Fair as a ship wreck bust
Bare as an Italian crust
Wear ass shit wisdom just
As you found yourself here
Catching the winds already gone
To Katmandu temples glittering
Like a rolling thunder meandering
Down the annals of futility
Below the soil weeping or flood storms
Tearing across the lands
Like a piece of paper shredded
Never to be discovered
Never to be misunderstood
Never to be defiled
Never to be compiled
Never to be dictated
In darkness and solitude
In madness and gratitude
Rain drying on his face,
He held on to his gun
As he would hold his lies
At the root of his past
Train going south
On tracks lined with brimstone
Transported from Sodom and Gomorrah
In a time filled with linen antidotes
Shaped like a liquid thorn
Piercing deeply into his soles
Wearied and bruised
By the pursuit for freedom
Not to be found in the forest green
Not to be bound in the word
Of God not spoken or written
In shadow puppet shows
Festivals colorfully entrenched
In Berlin vases with oasis lilies
Painted on the outside
Given as a gift to a woman
Shrinking up in reflections
Of grand illusions on the television
Set to live a hundred and fifteen years
Longer than the relic limerick
About the John who jumped over Frank Thomas
Who shot the left side of his brain
Approximately right side of a drain
Clogged with choke and coke
Glass bottles replaced by plastic
Disposable diapers for convenient motherhood
Discounted at fifteen percent off the retail price
Of a brisk melon beverage
Little better than average
Mundane secular cymbals clanging
Behind a black Mercedes
Reconditioned by Achilles
Or a blue blind Archimedes
O what difference does it make?
Asks a voice behind a door
Closing down for lunch
Breaks through the walls
Bah! Tis New Year Eve
Senseless exchange of gifts
And stranded memories
Lifted by phantoms scratching
His head aching and matching
Every one that went by
As the lines on his hands
Are erased from fate or destiny
Created by superstitions
Borrowed from repetitions
Of unskilled manipulations
Stuck in the middle of cultural inheritance
Pinned to the notice board yesterday
Everything comes to a halt
At the end of a polka dot
Old and haggard
Used as a disguise hiding nothing
But a pawn in the exalted scheme of things
Unfolding before the blink
Is forever lost...
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