Here’s to the new year’s revolution of cancelling all resolutions.
For most things solve themselves in astounding universal precision
While you are out there making custom-made forecasts.
In this festive house, the fetid smell of hope lingers on.
It is the season to be lonely.
is actually loss
glazed with the seasonal consonant -the initial of grief-
as you carol away the ones you have lost
in gold-sprinkled, rhyming silence,
and watch memories parade,
a veteran, one-legged lead soldiers’ army.
Oops! Here’s one that crippled away from your way,
And another one that lost the desire to carry away,
And yet one more who expired his last breath while exploring your way. Help! Officer down...
A star for each one of the beloved ones that have shot themselves away skywards
And of those who haven’t shown up yet, but will be lost as soon as they shine on you.
Found and lost stars
make a sparkling, fine decoration for your Christmess tree.
Top it with the shooting love you have been following lately to a dark, freezing desert
And then set it all on fire to warm up the treason season.
It is the minority who gains some and loses more
and as an minimalist you should cherish this, more or less.
So drink up your gluhwein
And do not regret for giving wrong directions to the Magi.
None would want three strangers offering gifts
to any child born in such unsafe times.
Exorcise the Silent Night, mute the jingling bells
And hear the true night’s music fall through