:;

            burnt: oranges & browns & yellows
              and the sooty red of Dusk!

  Walking down suburban streets between straight rows of trees
  catching leaves squinting blearyeyed into the fluid motions of autumn
  wind-

Year of my deleted facebook account
          of weaving voids into rhetoric and arguing against text messagers-
siting false consciousness as a grounds for abolishing cellphones and marriage
and accusing television hosts of capitalism,
          of forgetting to sleep wandering through the local woods dead drunk
tracing quotations in the dirt 
          of long walks to my grandmother's condo for homemade applesauce
and forgotten Victorian card games,
          of trying to get lost in the few acres of forest allotted to the local woods
running from supposed local bandits after meditating with dragonflys under-
neath a local
tree.

          Oh happy year,
finding Buddha in the face of a flowing river,
sunlight ebbing through stiff branches and pooling
in the sand 

          year of wanderings,
finding Rumi, and ordering thin paperback copies
of Indian poems from a local
bookstore-          from a man down on the times
                                  from a father whose daughter will only read Vampire
Romances.

Year of damning sorority girls that damn Shakespeare
Year I gave up smoking marijuana in our apartment after losing
my pipe after my mother found Mike and I's pot.
Year of laughing at hipsters
Year of Higher Criticism year of Sufis year of emptying
dishwashers in the hours before this town will stretch and groan
with its frat houses & wipe the sleep and soul from its eyes.


          Oh the holy year
of mudstained knees and inevitable nostalgia
  an ode for the holy year, of time divided carefully into months
by bearded men in solemn marble chambers,
  a hymn for animal shelters and socialists and for time
  stripped blind pained & lonesome stretched thin into weeks,
  broken into tired days of leafing idly through pages and vomiting tequila
into neighbors' yards
of time
  stitched or built or dreamed out of fragments &
moments
  recollected in the falling temperatures of night.