end all couplets

New Year’s Dissolutions:

January

1. The aphelion of milk is me at 4:33 a.m. on January 1st.

February

2. Soliloquies and obloquies in trance and dance at noon on Presidents’ Day.

March

3. The recalcitrance of hair in the alimentary canal on the Ides.

April

4. A Ponzi scheme you will love.

May

5. An internal rhyme to end all couplets.

June

6. Take, take take.

July

7. Graphic blandishments in the Charles Schulz style.

August

8. Spindly spirals of sassafras chutney on Mondays, Wednesdays, and alternating Sundays.

September

9. Scrape out pores… and “Hark, there’s a cough. Oh, do your worst!”

October

10. The best plan is none.

November

11. The old man announces he’s a deterministic Darwinist. (Oh, yes he does!)

December

12. I can’t make sense of his design…

Better start working on next year’s dissolutions.

“The body itself has no use for hope.
It hardens in grief to live beyond hope.”

— Rohan Chhetri / “New Delhi in Winter”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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