The men and beasts of the zodiac
Have marched over us once
more.
Green wine bottles and red
lobster shells,
Both emptied, litter the
table.
“Should auld acquaintance
be forgot?” Each
Sits listening to his own
thoughts,
And the sound of cars
starting outside.
The birds in the eaves are
restless,
Because of the noise and
light. Soon now
In the winter dawn I will
face
My fortieth year. Borne
headlong
Towards the long shadows
of sunset
By the headstrong,
stubborn moments,
Life whirls past like
drunken wildfire.
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