Happy New Year

I cast out my conscience hoping for a bite, a lick, a nibble.
Another year away we sit here, ice melting atop drinks and
synchronized eyes waiting for contracted stars to sweep them away.

The Ace lies asleep and the house in shambles,
Oh my Queen, your king is bent and twisted,
melted by mojito sweat.

Though soft, the couch cushion cannot
protect me from the Pop art bopping
from the innocent speakers.

TV's don’t brainwash people, sitcoms do.

Quiet on the set living rooms hush.

a hand model
polishing his nails,
rhymed ditties branding
the air with prices.

The couches corner reminds my head:
"your bed is in the other room."

As the apple drops my resolutions climb up my throat, begging to be heard.