January 4th

It's all going down.
Numbers falling.
Fortunes lost.
The sweet taste of fruit disappearing on my tongue.
My impenetrable company
turning tide
and running scared from the masses.
This morning I was sure it would make its comeback, 
pick up steam and head for the gate like a horse
who could smell the barn.
Run me hard
till I could barely hold on. 
But one hour in, my predictions have faded.
What's right is wrong.
What's up is down.
I put my head in my hand and close my eyes
and wait for the spinning to stop.
My father always says, "don't fall in love with it."
And I say in response,  "I'm not. "
But the truth is, I am.
I am in love.
I have watched it rise and dance upon the clouds
taking me with it.
A warm wet Samba of notes,
holding me close, 

like a foreign lover I never quite understood

when they spoke.
I thought it would last forever,
like sand on the beach,
or the shine of the moon.

But I was wrong.

Lovers leave. 

Friends aren't always friends.

And that sparkly Christmas tree

at the YMCA,

the one with all the ribbons and lights,

is nothing more than ugly green plastic 

they shove in a long cardboard box

on the fourth of January.