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(my fashionably late xmas greeting
could long foster for this century 21 a meeting
of thee poetic minds pleasantry sent once
   boot not worth reap peat ting).

up in the air
mine barrel sized girth
   sloshes with cheap beer
wishing many strangers

   happy holidays and good cheer
making me suitable
   as santa claus and his team of rein deer
chewing gum to avoid

   popping in both left and right ear
yet the rickety sleigh
   may not become air borne I fear
landing ungracefully
   scattering presents and gear

if wooden contraption alights,
   a horrendous crash many will hear
no doubt instigating
   children and adults to jeer

comparing this jolly fellow to king lear
yet running for the hills
   as this mad man gets considerably near
the madding crowd,

   who expected a more
   healthy saint nick to a pear
with healthy physique
   instead of the trademark outsize rear

which cause for observers
   to guffaw and sneer
whereby my trademark suit
   will seemingly tear

and reveal that this clown
   wears frilly under wear
prompting me to avoid
   accepting this role for next year.
Aaron Mullin Jan 2018
There was a big boom once

Population dynamics are intrin-
sic functions of gumption
and big booms echo in eternity.

I look at the industrial revolution
through infrared filters
to parameterize the haze of our lives using

a kaleidoscope landmarking
technique andor technology
where the function of plutocracy

(and it is taking shape)

while it resonates on post-reformations
and pre-modernisms
How do you like them schizms?

Living the religion of
capital ~ ism
and paying homage on prayer mats of

blood ~ sweat ~ and 1, 2 many beers
through our blue collar dollars and
masonry jars and crossroads guitars

(and between the bars)

of our own creation.
Now moving toward remediation
and un-plebiation.

I cried vermouth and reconciliation while
they expunged truth and trylobytes.
The inevitability always bubbles up.

And in the trailer park of our lord: 2017
Ricky and Julian and Bubbles
pay homage to a great poet lost: Mr. Lahey.

(within the mystery of our own creation)

Thus we toast to: The Theatre of Life
"Birds of a shitfeather flock together" ~ Mr. Lahey ~

— The End —