Jingle bells
lose something when the grass is green
When Irving Berlin wrote “White Christmas”
in green Los Angles in 1940
he buried deep underneath it
his Christmas dead son,
his denied religious roots
Yet his song is an anthem to the joy
under which we bury the family disasters
denied expectations that haunt the season
And in this season
of lost penniless refugees
tired betrayed day minimum wagers
living in this world
below the rich who have cut the rope
and spewed out their exhausted hydocarbons
until this blue globe
had becub buddy greed
with doh bells
doh jigglig bells
just jiggle buds
clickyeverbore
