We calibrate time, Imagine temporal structures, And celebrate the New Year, Welcoming the sweet misery of life, Measuring months, weeks and days, Converting them Into an expectant whole and In elation or despair, Enter the etesian time zone At the stroke of twelve; Believing that the cog Has served its purpose.
We miss the seasons, The fog on the mountains, The sunshine on the rooftops, The dark corridors of our fantasy, The quiet contemplation of the mind, The snow footprints of the badger, The fluttering of the cicada, The bespattered maple leaf, The budding branch, Our very heartbeat itself; Life passes us by and yet We look for virtue in chronology.
We seek the New Year In a department store In cheap bargains, Steam ejecting gadgets, Discounted apparel, foundation cosmetics, Stuffed toys, plastic insects, Imitation shrubbery, Tinsel, doodads, Chocolates and pasties, To sweeten our choice; We wish to seize the celestial universe In pretentious artifice.
