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Another dusty dead year curdles, cracks and falls away
Its leavings relegated to the wrinkles in your brain
Your browser history; bookmarks, highlights, favorite places.

Some grime settles in the corners that won't get scrubbed away by Auld Lang Syne.
Flecks of history get stuck and cake the alleys and furrows, allowing us less room to think, and then what we keep is what ruins us.
new years
Notes passed in class:
Circle yes no or maybe.

Pages torn from diaries and journals:
Tonight I think I might love...

Haikus carved into the metal floor of the hole where your books are hidden during a quiz:
"School's a chore learning
2B a bore 4eva
while even ugly ducks soar"

Texts sent flickerfast explain why we're still fighting.
ME:     And then you said...
YOU:  I don't wanna read this ****.
ME:    OMFG this **** is what you said!

Emails from spambots clot inboxes with poems that are better than those from most flapping quills and tapping claws,
because they have no reason:

"Earstwhile Hardly asked an clocks raging spleeded
Pills pull grimy stovepots into a curdle stoop.
Click Here.  Click Here.  Click Here."
Vipers vipe another's life
by the flavor of their bites.

Constrictors construct another's death
by stacking slim breath upon breath until no more is left.

Adders addle able bodies into meal,
and Rattlers crackle should you come too near,
but not in here.

Boomslangs sling their back jaws into prey, to chew the venom in.
Black mambas leap even at thawed white mice.  

This is where a permanent tranquilized matinee meets a life sentence,
all year long and every year hence.

Fang glands churn and produce venom to no productive use.
Serpent jaws pitch surge and yaw to locate the same frozen rabbit as yesterweek and the procession of all the weeks which preceded.

Though kneeless, to me they seem to be kneeling,
praying for prey to cross their path.

I make my way past the Coral Snake, Anaconda, Python and Asp, all lax, medicated or meditating on this wilderness where their hisses are merely reminiscent gasps.

Through the anesthetized malaise, we observe the faces of a most ancestral and mammalian fear, and they can gaze back at us, but rarely do, reduced as they are to being expensive jewels, on display behind the fingerprint smudged windows in the Snake House.
My girlfriend an' me
live together,
in an apartment.
1993
Rescued beasts brought into my home
not my children.
Small bearded creatures,
who so loudly exclaim at three A.M.

not security conscience,
nor do they even really care.
They are just a couple of night-jerks.

Furry little night-jerks.
2014
Mice make mouse music in my walls
music is a sound that repeats and calls
sound is a wavelength our ears can hear
rendering children sleepless from fear.
It was an opera in that everybody had grown fat
every movement was stylized and expositional
the faintest grin
the miniscule teardrop
even an emotion that barely registered came out over-inflated;
encircled in greasepaint, underscored by full orchestration, embellished by stiff and grandiose choreography.

It was an opera in that we yawned,
shifting in our seats, checking our watches, yearning for the curtain call.

It was an opera, but it was mostly life
in that it had no final act, ending or closure.
revised in 1999 Andrew Marshall Alper

— The End —