New Year's Eve's Eve

Static from low to high, from moons to June,
What compressed liars in their manifestos stress.
Eftsoons it is noon—a day in June, a moonless moon
Called new for cigarette lycanthropes to obsess

And fester over. Binaural sound discovers the snake
Of my mind's medulla, makes each north star a moot
Muted point. No one now calls for the layer cake
Of geological sediments, though that butte's a beaut.

So earth sings sentiments sans our lips as Garbo
Laughs forlornly to cancel the curtain's play.
Layered with light from trash fires, the old century's hobo
Jungle flickers like a muscle in the face of the new day.

That is, the sun can be remembered by a rhinestone
And sex stabs the corner of your sweeter eye's cologne.