One Hundred and Forty Eighth Entry

Happy Brew Years everybody!!!!

Lot of colossal changes here in the Roberts camp, but at least I'm writing new poems, and this year is actually looking up for me which is odd, I know. Here's a happy dappy scrappy little bit of new writing.

Here's my poem:

NEW YEARS

Keep continuing, hoping that some powerful essence will escape me.
The next day will feel so great, a breeze at my back and my empty body lighter
than before. Continuing on towards the bank with small pieces of paper to be exchanged.
Next, my friend, I dawdle by your grave, happily pressing my face area
against the rain-wet stone. On the wheelchair is printed a special sticker. My face
is later pressed against the rough wood of my hand-carved living room furniture.

You are no longer my robot plaything, no longer my man-servant.
Now each can of dried goods in the cupboard will hold a special glow for you.
Are all my nervous fantasies off the mark? Each time I close my eyes and tense,
you appear, as if to do or say something. All fingers wiggle inside my glove,
the maps start losing their cities. Time stands frail, a feeble old man doomed
to watch the teenagers of fate destroy his lawn. Fingers fall off the hands for want of a face.