A Perfect Fall And One Fine Disaster
(My Own Christmas Poem)

Here I go again
Succesfully creating one fine distaster,
Another perfect fall of Love
Quickly peaking from limited glory
Into the same old story of hope and redemption,
Where the best love can do is open its mouth
Like some angry young beast
That savagely bites the mother that bore him.

(I couldn't make her a baby so she left me.)

Everyone has an instinct
To make someone happy.
Girls gyrate in front of old men
And make lots of money.
Beer is sold and tips are made.
A heart pumps only so many times
And then one day
It stops.
Erections come and go
While faulty inseminations miss the mark of evolution.
So serious are the plans we make
To construe love sensations
Sheduling our days to maximize all meaning
Until everything
Everything eventually stops.

Bar napkins get soggy and cigarettes are smoked.
Beasts are slaughtered and packaged right up
For holiday consumption.
Drinks are finished
And somehow a baby is born out of lucky fertilization.
Stories are told and a couple of logical moons line up
So sperm can penetrate one fortunate egg.

In some biological way
Beyond the reach of mere words
Far deeper than every one of our syllables
Families construct meaning
Beyond comprehension:
So this eternal baby starts to makes sense
Living in the hearts of us adults
And all our wet children
Praying for that one mythic baby -
That savage young beast -
In hopes of receiving absolution
And at least one good Christmas season
When an important man died for no known reason
Only to come back every year as a babe
Revealing the joy of pure living.

I have come back, he says, to tell you
Relationships will start and all of our lives
Are scheduled to be ended.
People pray while old men give dollars
To half naked women.
Everyone is happy when unions are created.
Until one more time
When a baby is born
And then Love is born
So Rejoice
Rejoice
For love is born,
A beast is now born.

11/04