This is the time of year when I inevitably find myself awash in cliches of fitness and organization and self-discovery. I’m sure that for some people it is reassuring to embrace the “new me” fresh start that a new year can offer, but I see things just a little differently. This year my resolution (for lack of a more appropriate and less cliche term) is to reclaim the old me. I am determined to remember what drives me, what lights the creative spark that used to consume me. I used to write volumes and volumes, late into the night until my fingers cramped and my eyes went blurry. Poetry was an elixir that brought me to life, and I’m hoping it can work its magic at least one more time. For me, 2010 is the year of the pen.
now does our world descend now does our world descend the path to nothingness (cruel now cancels kind; friends turn to enemies) therefore lament,my dream and don a doer's doom create is now contrive; imagined,merely know (freedom:what makes a slave) therefore,my life,lie down and more by most endure all that you never were hide,poor dishonoured mind who thought yourself so wise; and much could understand concerning no and yes: if they've become the same it's time you unbecame where climbing was and bright is darkness and to fall (now wrong's the only right since brave are cowards all) therefore despair,my heart and die into the dirt but from this endless end of briefer each our bliss-- where seeing eyes go blind (where lips forget to kiss) where everything's nothing --arise,my soul;and sing