birthday final

in the year of our lord who paused with force to blow doors open for the lost
to cause all who floss to have clean teeth or feats stronger than the beat
of a still heart pumping blood moving feet on the earth
as it rotates towards the sun for fun not long ago gone
but born in the year of the fat cat who eats rats
a matter of fact as witnesses pass tracts in packs of pacts made to save lost souls
for goals to be had in death after life we strive
lies to the truth teller who dwells in a cellar hidden behind bricks built by his friendly enemy
while sampling the wonderous fruits of juice from the labor of feet born in the year of the pig
too big to move quickly enough to avoid beating sticks leading to tables blessed by famed fables,
breaking fasts in sizzling pans opening nostrils to glorious worship
as the sound of the fryer blinds the desire to all but food,
hunger rules as the mind begs for energy to do its thinking,
wondering, if we all marked the birth of the year from the day we are born,
what would the world look like? how many resolutions would we make on your birthday in honor of the cycle of revolutions you have made on this planet as it rotates ever slowly into the sun?
what is a new year? who cares or fears fading away into oblivion if he does not cheer?
in the year of the fierce snake protecting its take from all who would dare come near its nest
for fear of its children being raped or pillaged by invaders with guns or machines that trump
the existence of indigenous cops patrolling grounds for planted corn to share with the hungry world
surviving the onslaught of the civilized savages taking away peaceful protests
to protect the dancer’s way of life
who survives the onslaught of the things we lost in the great fire of the year of the horse
who fought along the rider in wars too swift to be stopped by the force of a swinging blade
or wooden spears to slay every enemy that stands in the way of the destined chosen by gods who
side with the winning tide regardless of the prayers cried falling on deaf ears of monkeys who cover
the sound with their hands from seeing the evil portrayed in the movies by the one who never speaks
in the year of the monkey king who thinks speaking the truth is too mean to the humbled youth
who abuse innocent power for no one defends the vulnerable from the loot of robbers who tool their way
through life begging for strife to survive by any means necessary neglecting the abnormal morality
of abstract idolatry created by replacing symbols with ideas that adhere to the mind’s ears
through vast repetition of rhythmic phrases begging for forgiveness for existing on a world
ruled by random chaos choice in the year of the ox to stubborn to outwit the fox at his own game
of course we pause with force to mark the things we lost in the war to mourn with callous joy
the discovery that our kin has the sauce built from the source of all life passed on through immoral strife
to the offspring of the wind who cheer along by howling from within to the tune of the news
neglecting all but the good of children sailing through obstacles as the way to save the day

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