ZADI DIAZ | Old Year

Old Year

Updated: Mar 18

I swing low

flagging broken chariots to roll me home

the city exhales, a staccato beat

wet cement

of liquor and quiet regret

it shakes me off, the last remnant

of a year that lost its footing

... and I ride

eyes bleary, head blurry, weary

slumped in the backseat

tunnel lights streaming

morse code on my skin

a custom guide

to new beginnings


and spinning.

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