something sparkles in the near distance
‘and maybe it’s this new year,’ we all coo
excitedly. a romp this time around, free from fuckboys,
where we can while away time in our own trees,
eating our pears, never worrying, never giving a care
to the haters that said we wouldn’t get to where
we are today. we don’t suck;
in fact, we fuck shit up in the best way possible.
here is the time of the mobile party, of the love
machine turned on full blast :: and we’re the forever-host,
we’re the perpetual-motion battery that got this train
out of the station and kept it going long after it rocketed
off the rails. call us daft, but we’re only daf;
dope as fuck. give us the farce hard this go-round
old man time. we don’t have the stomach for new years’
babies that can’t ring in a set of days that isn’t magical.
may we laugh, love, and live at a pace grand and gradual.