January One

Transition

slippin' into the scoot, chanting, like a backroad mystic that's got nothing to lose and nowhere to be--save the night, and this purgatory where neither love nor hate really need a reason.

It only matters when and where you wake up

after the dreamin' is gone. If the bullets are flying, it must be a new year. The seasons are never clear, where one ends and the other begins--love, laughter or tears and another day left behind

Before you can feel them all

and the stars only remind you where you are, where you were, and where you might be if you had or hadn't--with no fortunes to sell, save to see you tomorrow night, if the weather is fair

Those tarrying ghosts
are always trying to remember
what we all seem to forget.

How it feels to be human again.