Suddenly, twelve poems flavored Christmassy came to me to give away for the fun of it, the hello of it, I may say, corn, that's okeh.
Thursday, November 01, 2018
that justifies, just ifs this olde dude from the desert,
into real-ification in 2018 Christmas forever story,
Wow. Who knew? Little drummer boy, remember?
What can I bring to him? Who even mentioned
us giving? Honest, what could you give
Christ, the anointed, promised, messiah, message
******* up to be angel choirs in heaven's spotlight,
good news, aka the gospel or spell, which is no unintended
causality, BTW. be tee dub, we say.
the good news, the scary angels sayed, that not too cold
night to be out and about with the little lambs, that time
o'year, good tax collectin' time,
celebrate that. Taxmass. Okeh.
This is a Christmas story of the sort that can twist things other wise twisted to be untwisted in this peculiar way.
Wicked is as wicks are wont to be, twisted wit' a bit
the ****** things all explode. Abit o'that, they light a candle in the thinn-ist-light-o-night,
And, when the battle's over,
"IT IS FINISHED" has been muttered,
we won. That's done. Merry Christmas,
God rest ye, merry, gentle men,
twixt the trenches, 2018.
Jah, twelve days of Christmas, twelve poems, to me it feels like Christmas, opening well bought, hard sought gifts from unexpected realms of reality. You get what I'm sayin?