Superstitions 

[thinking about next year]

I’ll start the new year with a superstition

Under the table, mouth full of grapes, I’ll emerge from my fake womb in a new nihilistic position 

Embrace an air of faux optimism

Leaving behind the forgotten year’s remembered acts of watered down barbarism

I’ll drink to the ghosts of my past juvenile convictions

Say my prayers and toast with hollow benedictions

The calendar flips and year mirror cruelly won’t lie

The same restless angered stranger looks back at me, eyes dead, asking why?

I’ll start the new year with a passionate kiss from a soon forgotten stranger

It won’t matter much, nothing but a mechanical heat-exchanger

I’ll start the year with something different

Perhaps a glimmer of hope- I’m tired of believing in lack-worth superstitions