Winter holidays
seem to make no difference; spam,
like rust, never sleeps

Midnight, December
twenty-sixth, dreams of peace give
way to avarice

Bitterly cold, I rub
my hands together--cheapskate
boss, turn the heat on

Why the hurry, dog,
the squirrels are too fast for
you in the first place

Spring matures into
summer, then flames out as fall--
winter, too, shall melt

Ripe aromas of
tobacco and horsepiss, warm
racetrack afternoon

Some things change, others
seem invariable--Happy
New Year, everyone!