the unveiled year

the days pass in blurs like trees

from the window of a car.

just smears of green in an endless

landscape meant to be seen

but we move too fast to notice.

it is how this year closes.

in a streak of emotions too saturated

to pick apart and examine,

could the next year bring us famine?

i should hope not, but again.

hope didn't stop this year, did it.

it was one bad thing after another

and there is no telling what the weather

will look like in January.

a spot of hail. a drip of fire.

something to tide this beleaguered

hovel into the next decade.

i'm waiting for the world to punish me

as it has done to others in this

horrid, evil century.