women. writers.

Poetry: The New Year Starts in Red by Carly Weiser

She was working off of chalkboard premonitions 
Dashing after cabs like it was the running of the bulls.
Chasing Buffalo like a caveman dropout.

She lost her silver stilettos in her rust belt dreams, 
Snorting the devils sriracha in croissant moonlight.
Bleeding out ruby red slippers with no way home.

“Life’s too short to drink bad coffee,” read the café billboard.
So she asked what kind of cocktail she should have instead.
But the sign at the French bistro said, “Grow up and drink wine.”
So she polished off bottles until the menu read like poetry.

“What are you trying to tell me?”

Bathing in midnights numerology,
Drunk girls plow down hot dogs and streamers,
Spitting up promises of a cleanse or monogamy 
While they flash sample size thighs.
Shooting glitter and Peel in the corner she thought of her resolution,
But her New Year’s resolutions just came out as last years false hope.

Clanking together horseshoes in a hideout,
She evaporated in and out of doorknobs for the remainder of the evening.
Carrying on with men like long division.
Disappearing and reappearing like the pink panther,
Binging on full faces of Slender Man. 

She awoke awake, lost in translation.
French language learning tapes from last night’s bathroom,
Cycling like a revolving door through her brain.

A dead man bleeding out like ruby red slippers on the hotel towels.

“What are you trying to tell me?”
Post Comment
Post a Comment