I cut my hair.
I wanted to enter
the wooden horse of this new year
re-framed, re-styled, ready for anything.
Because this year, I want, fiercely, many things.
Like your legs intertwined with mine
in the motion of waves
all the time
as if there is no time.
And the kind of success
measured in limitlessness.
I will hang the red banner.
Spill the blood of so many oranges
or lap the juices with my tongue, at least,
let it dribble down my chin in fervent prayer.
Because this year, I want to enter like a Trojan horse.
For better or worse,
things must happen
and we must make them.