that was the year...

that was the year I traveled to the land of you have yours and I have mine, numbers. let’s do this years cover of a previously battered cover song that wasn’t any good in the first place.

that was the year I started to eat the morning paper for breakfast. at first my skin turned pink for some reason, like the beginning of a blush, but soon the words started bleeding through like barely visible interior tattoos. no one bothered to read them still for that was the year that some people died in africa and there was a war in some part of asia or the middle east and someone lied to everyone and I took to wearing turtlenecks because the horoscopes started showing up just below my hairline at the back of my head. that being the year that everyone walked in pairs, a sort of verticle parallel piggy-back, a trafficked lower deck and a trip to the barber every three weeks.