New Years Day 2022
Gray shrouding the sun, rain on the pavement, the commuter train runs empty, mostly. Hangovers all over the earth; empty bottles. I fell asleep sober before midnight again. I am empty like a new calendar. I do not have numbers or reminders. I do not know who will be born or who will die. I have not made war or peace and have no treaty with time. It is cold and damp, and I think of Hank Williams dying passed out and pilled out drunk in the back of a car in 1953. I think of the Angel of Death. I count the trains passing by my window. I count the black ravens searching for the dead or perching on bare trees. I have swollen tonsils, but am negative for the coronavirus. I am content with this gloomy day. My beard is gray.