Standing here,  soaked in my own blood,
my brave heart thumping
arrhythmically,
your shadow and I spy
firm, thick wood.

Those dark lights of Christmastide
afflict us
red and green sunset drops
coagulate,
create this awesome flicker
of a fire of dampened desire.

Candle-light and in the mean time,
we mark the end of this hologram-life
sans investment grade material, sans flight
from the light.

Out of time's descent I rise again,
into language.
There can be no disguise:
all this begins and ends in grief
with the great understatement,
of much wordy disquisitioning..

I fall through the looking-glass
into the mirror of myself
O! My God!  recall ye these  suffering generations
lifting eyes to a cross
a crescent, a menorah;
suffering flows through history
enters our genes, our eyes, our cortex
becalmed
in this land of unkept promises and broken hearts.

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