Drizzling rain, a song and being together.
Called for a birthday wish, and here I thought
it was condolences. Twenty years of chemicals,
and all the better for it, feeling powerful, oh January.
Such things I ate tonight, the thought of it astounds.
The sauce and regretfulness, not doing enough
relaxing into and because of dread. A glass of wine,
optimism of destruction and television, smiling scientists.
Sung with my small voice, infinite exponents
of nameless women washing which I do not.
Who to call back, so many and without time
or the right kind of it, quite, oh January.
No comments:
Post a Comment