He has another year leering,
Horizon reaching for his eyes,
Groping at here with where he wants to be,
The differences there,
Standing back to back about to duel,
Whispering to each other,
What’s the big idea?
Soft enough that no one else hears.
Old acquaintance’ forgotten,
Find him down by the laconic,
Swimming through droughts,
And drowning in drinks,
Trying to float his boat,
Waiting for that ship to come sailing in.
Interesting to reflect:
Well, it's been a hell of a year.
I mean that both in the check-out-my-fifteen-thousand-photos, and in the Sage-Francis-song-title sense of the phrase. I've had my up and my downs, and still have my hope.
So this is Randall Stephens, last survivor of two thousand and nine, signing off.