It's truly the New Year. Gazing into the pinpoint eyes of the city night, I see the joy of excuse and excess. My hands reach out to shape and mold this ether, but I only see shadow puppets dance in the half-light. My feet crack the ground to draw close, but I view the scene from too far. Even my eyes strain to focus the shadows, but I feel only a headache. The thickened air floats by like a mote of dust, and all I can do is sneeze.
I suppose this is where people show their resolve, but all I see is moonlight. And eyes. All of those eyes, unable to move or change and blessed with the dominion of wallflowers, are in those pinpoints. They all make motions and shuffle into their latest beginning, but it's all a ruse in the end. Tragically, the eyes have it. They just don't know what to do with it.
Posted with LifeCast
