forty five minutes until midnight
the year will end and with it begin again, another tally at the end of a signed this date document
it is the cusp between death and fool which have always been me and you,
dying out to start again, skirting around the tower to look for the world we want behind it
maybe in the new year you won't have to do for me again what you tried to in the last
but no resolution is going to change our fundmental states of being
magician or not, the year will die
the tides will change
the date will climb higher and higher toward an infinity we won't get to see but pretend to understand
you will still be you
and i will still be me
twenty five minutes is not enough time to unpack all of that
i hope in 2019 he still coughs when he takes the first drag