reconstructed resolutions lower the ball to the ground
the ball won’t rise again till the crowds gather next year
when the lovers and the true believers return in celebration
when the partiers piss and vomit on sidewalks and in alleys


My Resolution(s)
this year I’ve gotten better at accepting multiple versions
I’ve barreled through decades and broken over waterfalls
I’m pumped to shred the rowing muscles

this year I’m shoving specific plans into my eye sockets
not the usual well-formed outtakes, no more excuses
—here—I wonder if I’m bull-shitting myself with words as I often do

or maybe, I’ve gone and done it—reshaping thoughts into tangibles
maybe I have, because this morning, facial recognition can’t recognize me
could it be this year’s resolution, this thinning skin I wake in each day more
forcing my handheld device to decide who I am?

but…my new phone requires an app update…
I remain the same (use your words, AM)…

time carries the words, the dreams, the light
she throws down faster than a gaudy ball dropping on a bombastic evening
she grinds to enjoy a loved one’s pain
she grins as voyeur to our last moments
she slows if I watch her red digital clock counting down as my soup warms

I’ve come to realize this—dreams, words
the very pace of time is up to me, to you
when these things travel swiftly, we’re doing good work
busied our worlds between seconds, minutes, hours

this morning, I placed flint sparks in my pockets

today we will do good work
we will shoot firecrackers to light the night sky
we will dirty the dark street a little to say—we were here
to see, to smell, to hear, to taste, to touch
every burning color of this moment called life