Of bourbon and new years.

For my parents.

Throw up your hat, dear.

The Earth is still

And all time spins from its spools

With a comic's measure.

Throw it to the drunkards' moon and their chandeliers

Up to that toppling view of Earth

And to what those brilliant Martians must

See, in their moment of recreation

That ours and theirs might coincide,

Give us a laugh.

Reach to the back of you,

Where my smallest hand was in some distant

Month

Acquainted first and now.

I am dizzy with the sweat and rags of words

The jazz and enamel ground, worn.

Reach back and throw your hat high now,

It is the Auld Lang Syne they play

Where winter flowers stand aright.