a second-to-none second to last second.

looks like we're headed towards another 'nother quiet finish.
a limping last lap,
less languid than lazy,
more lurching than lunging,
lungless and listless,
laden with the lightness of loss, lack, and longing,
as seen through lucid, limpid lenses......
yeah.
it's a hard style.
duders,
that line, though-
laden with the lightness?
c'mon.
y'ever feel crushed by what's missing?
yeah.
that's some heavy sh!t.
and as this year creeps towards a close,
and the dark days become seasonably abysmal,
replacing the warmth of the previous holiday
with the cold shoulders of a stout and surly new year,
i've gotta tell you, neighbors-
i'm glad it's almost over,
but i'm not overly anticipating the promise of a fresh hell,
frozen over, and frightful in it's frigidity.
dang.
i hate endings.
even when i hated the story enough to wish it was over.
maybe i just wish for more happy endings?
i dunno,
i've never ever really been one to want to be touched,
so even the most accessible massage-related finales still elude me.
yuck.
on the really real, though-
2014 started out pretty strong, too-
lots of new hottness,
tons of better decisions,
loads of promise and heaps of cultivated potentiality....
yet,
somehow,
when it really mattered most,
the whole last quarter still managed to eat hot logs
of the most diarrhealistic doo-doo buttery b!tchbaggerism
all along the house-arrested homeward stretch.
i guess it's true, too-
nobody leaves with the title.
awwwwww, man.
*
just how hard a style have the last few days been?
ummm.
well,
they've been the kind of uninspiring stretches of responsible adulthood
that leech away the spring from your step,
drain the jingle and the jangle from your jaunt,
and generally suck the heat from your fire.
whoa.
that's real.
dinner has been paying the price for it, too.
check the teleport:

a steam-bent-out-of-focus dimly-lit bowlful of ghetto'ronis?
yeah.
more beige blops for our faces.
hmmm?
well, yes,
harvest's happy smile and chinny-chin-chin are psyched about it.
don't get me wrong, guys...
these girls actually love it.
but,
they're kids and they can't cook, so they're not exactly elite food critics.
i know it works,
and the herby chick peas and the sauteed kale hep out a bit, too,
it's just not exactly my best work.
bummer.
we're full, in our bellyholes;
and we're lucky for having all of our family togetherness;
and we're freeeeeezing in the frosty folds of the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
all of it is happening,
so i guess this is how 2014 goes out-
old and cold and broke, broken and busted, disgusted, disgusting,
and discussing the finds, failings, flailings, and facts that made led us here.
we're spanning time,
and we're running out of it.
time traveling into the future-
seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years.
this is it,
and that's all there is;
never quiet, never soft.....