xmas tree

I guess it’s okay

to “shit myself” a little bit,

go ahead & let my cynical guard down,

slip into a sentimental sweater

& listen to Nat & Bing croon

about sleigh bells or snow, play

into the whole “peace” & “good will” trip,

the golden rule, believe in

Christ & the power of love

(at least for one night) stay away

from whiskey & bird dogging

the mistletoe, maybe even pray

or say “thank you” or something like that.

I don’t know . . . ,

but I think it’s possible

that this ludicrous circus

we all perform in,

Ladies & Gentlemen!

could be the greatest fucking show on Earth

(next to the Rolling Stones, of course)

the greatest goddamn story ever told,

See the Amazing Marco Jesus

nosedive into the retail season! Amen.

There’s no denying my nostalgia –

Santa’s got me by the jingle balls,

& I could care less about debt,

extravagance or VISA Hell.

Just hum Frosty, Rudolf, the Little Drummer

Boy. I want to wallow in myth-shit,

magic, soak up the joys of those Yuletide

stories when I was a kid,

rum-pum-pum pum,

when everybody loved everything I did,

those roiling Christmas memories,

both sweet & sour . . .  my tongue licking

at sticky fingers & salty tears.

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