Began the year by seeing the rat uncheesed,
freedom is a destiny braved.

Soily-clothed emperor's bum,
nudely chewed by the anals of reversism
afooted by numerology,
I make my way to an alternative January.
I start every century
on the same date.

Calendrical cheesebombs
in the upside-down year.
Left elbow throbs with leftover maturity,
last part of me that doesn't want to let go.

My inner chick's a gosling
spreading unfound winglets, by way
of pain, in said left limb joint.
I arrive to the offering, nobly beheaded
by the waiting throng—annointed by despair—rat says:

               Welcome, and make sure you support the mob
               better yet—reject everything...it's better off!

               To which I respond:
               I've come to see how the other half lives.

               Better you should see them die—says rat—
               same difference! I had once a healthy diet, fluidity
               composed a major portion of my day, no swine.
               A mere utterance of the bovine sally—was enough
               to last a season, afraid of no path!

               This newfound approach to my tattered jubilee
               lasted a composite of 40 days—in homage
               to that twin-beast keeper floating his misguided barge.
               As a matter of fact, the only vice I missed—dare I drone,
               the one which claimed this broken bod back to its
               previous owner...was writing!

               Yes, I'd completely given up the sword
               when I started eating healthy; physically, I was magnificent!
               Tip top, the entire cadaver—a destiny braved; mentally...

               I had grown an extra femur—an extended weasel
               protruding, from the rear of my intestine
               through the skin and out the chickawa!
               Although I cared for this uninvited guest as I would
               my own grail, the 3 am feedings grew tiresome.
               I decided it was time to relinquish control
               and carnivate this herbivore—by way of pen.

               I now stand before you complete—trashed
               and unhealthy!

               This event proceeded, without me, a mere
               eight days ago. I am currently unhealthy
               and writing—as opposed to a past state!
               I believe in a life that exists presently, I am
               implicit in motion, and I've yet to welcome
               the new year. All these things can be rectified...
               knowingly—I refuse!

Edwin Torres Author Page

Pub. May 2000