Yearning for frost sharp, gaudy lights
in November seems apposite in a year consistently blighted with dull, pedestrian horror
The itch to raise a tree and string lights
to no and every god
could be scratched this time
We can pack our proud sneers
in the loft or attic in exchange for
electric hope and cellophane cheer
As nights draw in
we’ll bluff metaphors of closeness
until a wellspring comes to right us
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 6:54 AM UTC
Yearning for frost sharp, gaudy lights
in November seems apposite in a year consistently blighted with dull, pedestrian horror
The itch to raise a tree and string lights
to no and every god
could be scratched this time
We can pack our proud sneers
in the loft or attic in exchange for
electric hope and cellophane cheer
As nights draw in
we’ll bluff metaphors of closeness
until a wellspring comes to right us
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