Wishes

 Wishes.

January’s pimp.

The customary word, whored around every 364 days.

As we clamp down on everything we truly want and let conformities spew messages copy pasted from poor memories and fresh search results.

May this new year bring you prosperity, paradise, promised lands.

May this year see me scaling heights, trimming fat, wearing new masks.

I wish you more of it all. Things that may or may not happen irrespective of what control you have over them. Lines forgotten already as I move a stubby finger to the next message under the scroll of death. Like a server on over time serving diners who come for free Wi-Fi but hates the service.

I wouldn’t care. But I wish you would. I wouldn’t call. But I wish you would. I could be there. But I wish you were here. 

I will wish you a gold canopy that covers your town when it rains. Or a cloud that snaps out of your palm when it is sunny. I will wish you an ocean when you are thirsty.

Flying unicorns, rainbows in ice cream cones, smiles from dispensing machines.

Wishes.

Well past it’s bedtime.

😈