my skin, my hair, the clothes i wore for two days smell like an open fire. these lungs of mine feel like chimneys must. and my bones are creaking like the wooden floors in that ramshackle victorian house my father almost bought when i was younger. but this smell of dead earth set aflame which has seeped it's way into me, is fading. everything is altering. i feel it more than ever. the new year never fails to entice and frighten me all in the same moment. this year i sat stoic, gazing into those flames kissing the bottoms of my outstretched feet and other limbs. drunken howls soaring, vanishing. everywhere, last years lovers forgotten, and new ones already clasped in arms and on unusual lips underneath old trees and ancient stars. there is a caged dove inside my chest. i've kept it there for some time now. this year, i'll let you free. somehow. i will. whether it's a proclamation or a fly into voids my heart nor eyes obtain the capacity to perceive. i've jut gotten so attached to the mystery. and, darlin', you know i love a mystery. i really wish there were farmer's booths on the sides of highways that sold fresh hearts instead of watermelons.