Resolution

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After Bob Kaufmann 

This year, I will create poems from meteorites and watch them burn a bright hole in the night sky.
This year, I will cry like a broken swan, feathers dangling on my wrists.
This year, I will compose extensive lists of sexual positions and revisions of my scripted life.
This year, I will end the strife of a world building steadily towards absolution.
This year, I will be the dissolution of the bonds that tether oceans to the land.
This year, I will be the minute hand that guides the hour hand to its final doom.
This year, I will fill my room with portraits of automobile wrecks, train wrecks, and dead presidents.
This year, I will bathe in sensuous oils and spoil my beloved bones.
This year, I will not end up alone despite the thoughts and wishes of my friends.
This year, I will end on an awkward pause.

-r. miller

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