Who could chew and swallow
this yellowish December draught?
Tasteless, brittle stone
instead of a sun-filled grain of wheat
on the vicious tongue…
We could have a feast for the final solstice:
in the street lamp’s stain of light
two sexless angels
throwing snowballs
and glass chants
at each other.
Candy-coated chimera to flood the bloodfalls
violently crowding against exhausted retina!
Do you see the world blurred
through my eyes, Father?
A penny for your thoughts!