New Year's Ramble, 2005
Too soon for any disturbing signs, I hope.
Come, crawl across the rug, little new year.
The doctors were worried about you, they were
afraid you still carry last year's shrapnel.
The all mighty something, couldn't begin to tell you just what kind
of a something it might be, but all mighty they claim it,
so you won't get no frenzied argument from me,
the all mighty something tried to force energy down
my fireplace, no, hold on a minute, don't let me
sing to you off key any more than I need to, that
wasn't your watch, that was the guy with the reindeer,
but all mighty they still talk about when the
hooligans collect their cash to see how much is
in the future's pot. Invest in something empathetic,
I remember learning, if you have anything left to
invest in.Come now, little new year, let me pick
you up and slap your back, there is some strange
stuff on your tongue, some kind of food product
that claims it believes in people, but if you look
deep into the charts, well, it would make you think
more than once about just putting anything in your mouth,
no matter how good they make it sound in their ads.
The cold machine is on full volume, and the crazy men
are dressed very aptly, they own all the stations and
their singing is off key, i told you i wasn't going to
do that to your vulnerable ears, little new year, so keep
crawling blind across the rug and don't worry about the
missing in action, they just might be found on some
whole hearted planet, maybe not this one, maybe in time,
this one, maybe you got something for me to indulge in,
little new year. We can duck out the back together, and hitch
a ride toward some benevolent government that knows just how
the heart functions.I feel new year's water wash my tired face.
I am reintensified.I pick up the new year's union card.
I glow in your uncertain dark.Empathy, damn it.Vulnerable
roads encircling all our feeble cities of strong.Leaky bags
of wind. Movies we thought we always wanted to see,but when we
finally got into the theater,it turned out we had already
dreamed them through, written them, and outgrown their ability
to soiree.Empathy, I said, to the blood trail leading me
toward the new year's sun. Find out where you tossed your hearts,
gentlemen(and some women).You'll need them before we're through.
I got a large pair of empty pockets,big enough for all of you
to dive head first in.We, the people.We, the peopled.We,strange
strange wounded people.My heart is worn and ragged, but it
refuses to go on disability.Come on,little new year,jump right
into Uncle Scotty's lap, and hang on, cause it's gonna be, to
paraphrase Bette Davis, a bumpy ride.
---Scott Wannberg
listening to Suzie Ungerleider.Oh Susanna.Johnstown.
First day of 20O5. |
