JANUARY

Deter my senses, wildly dented,

enter where you ended.

Start from the beginning.

Explain everything.

Growing up is like

falling into finite,

and out of crescendos.

Marionettes in stilettos are

breathing hard, their lifeless

legs are buckling at the knees.

They are swaying side to side

against their arched back,

tilting and zig-zagging

out of the bar.

Slowly you cease,

ease into indifference,

back out of scene,

But you said I can come;

linger together as the credits roll,

and children sleep.

Mementos of eternal takes,

Rolling tic tacs left behind

the plastic black trash bin.