Before you party, pray
the party soon goes away
because we’ve slam
danced Earth to bits
and it’s Time
(poor, old Man)
coming back to a home
all trashed who keeps on
yelling “STOP!”

Oh heart! Oh heart!
What have we done?
All the treasure hoarded
in our ballooning ventricles
has been crushed by the fierce
contractions of our steroid-muscles.
It’s Time
(poor, dumb Kid)
growing up in Nowhereland
who can’t get outside
to play.

Before you sack your Xmas tree
or pack its plastic surrogate
away in the manger
of your self-storage locker,
make a little vow to the coming year:
I pledge, to the best of my ability,
to keep all living trunks connected to their roots
while cutting off as many ties
as possible to phony petroleum products.

 It’s Time
(hate to say it, folks)
we got serious
or religious
or ingenious
(better yet all three)
about the downward ticking clock
3…2…1…
Happy New ???

Before you party, pray
and if this Time
you don’t get past prayer,
somehow I don’t think
it will be a night completely wasted.