On holy eve
A benison spoke o'er
A sparkling silver beaker
Plunged into soft candle light
A Santa Claus, rosacea and snow
A crimson padded satin sacred heart
A seated orange Buddha, lit by silky blazes
An angel out of gold foil and nacreous elfin hair
Some pearly saints in tawdrily yspotted witch attire
A lustrous jet-black Kali, spitting onyx, onyx weaponed
A jug-eared Ganesh, shell pink, chubby purple, saffron-clad
A motley gang of wax apostles, hands raised twixt carnations
Rati as buxom nymphet of the lushest green, astride her parrot
A hunky martyr youth, dripping sanguine in shimmer and sheen
Such bulging 'ceps you'd crave to lick the glitz off 'em gashes
Either Devaki-Krishna or Virgin Mary with the Child––too
Tangerine and augustly enthroned to tell those four apart
A glossy ivory evangelist of absolutely fey appearance
The Lord made hot-toned flesh in blond a surfer boy
A meek-faced Savior, cloyingly lithe, sequinèd as
A leaping dolphin, partly unadhering, ironed on
A spangle-studded teenie tank top ocean sky.
Who's lacking in this gaudy little game?
Where are the earnest ones that blast
So hard to just make good for it?
December 12, 2008
A benison spoke o'er
A sparkling silver beaker
Plunged into soft candle light
A Santa Claus, rosacea and snow
A crimson padded satin sacred heart
A seated orange Buddha, lit by silky blazes
An angel out of gold foil and nacreous elfin hair
Some pearly saints in tawdrily yspotted witch attire
A lustrous jet-black Kali, spitting onyx, onyx weaponed
A jug-eared Ganesh, shell pink, chubby purple, saffron-clad
A motley gang of wax apostles, hands raised twixt carnations
Rati as buxom nymphet of the lushest green, astride her parrot
A hunky martyr youth, dripping sanguine in shimmer and sheen
Such bulging 'ceps you'd crave to lick the glitz off 'em gashes
Either Devaki-Krishna or Virgin Mary with the Child––too
Tangerine and augustly enthroned to tell those four apart
A glossy ivory evangelist of absolutely fey appearance
The Lord made hot-toned flesh in blond a surfer boy
A meek-faced Savior, cloyingly lithe, sequinèd as
A leaping dolphin, partly unadhering, ironed on
A spangle-studded teenie tank top ocean sky.
Who's lacking in this gaudy little game?
Where are the earnest ones that blast
So hard to just make good for it?
December 12, 2008