The Christmas Turkey

The Christmas Turkey’s wrapped

All manner of beans and flying machines

In the tumble weed dawn

When the white horse rides

And the red nose glows

And all the selfless little elves

Take a good look at their selves

When sacrament of love is given

And the holy foundation of earth is riven

From the ground in its pillars of might

By the snows,

        By the wind that blows

By the sickle cutting corn in rows

        From the hands of Avenging Angels

When dawn breaks chorus

As the Greeks

Their furious selves hide from the weak

And salty earth is in the mouth

Because food grows plenty down south

And certain tribes are tucked away

Unbeknownst to the new light of day

Unless a word or two to say

Inside the ring of the horizon

Oh Powers mighty flighty staff

Come turn the road in range,  less  ways

To mock an Eden burning, yearning

For a false dawn’s door handle’s turning

Open up a witch craft’s furnishing

All bodies in blood and yellow

In blood and yellow

      They write themselves

Into the walls or hells

And out of holes or into wells

While the church bell’s chiming

And Tachygraphs of photographs

   That keep the heart in fits of laughs

Or sit like bulls upon their loves

And doze inside fresh meadows

And sallow tainted, scented dreams

Of things unbidden, ghosts unseen

The blood and yellow most obscene

Is washed from the windows of the soul

When tears come tumbling down

Like an ocean kingdom, when falls the crest like crown

To drown in air, the watermen stare

Up at the clouds of skies

Beyond the ring of the horizon