bitterness, 
if so bitten, bid ye
become
some sort of 
other,
between worlds,
so to,
so from,
so non-standard, atypical,
so ay,
where doth thou come
from?
the heavens?
never been.
oh, how some sort of 
somber, such
poetic justice
undone. 

but anyway-
take the yuletides, and
the suggested serving of
shove
it,
rage against the synthesized
cheer, for
would rather take the 
gloom,
the brood, the
doom,
just, at least, knowing
it is
real.
so, contrive, all you might,
as
your narrator,
needing not the calendar
designations,
oh, so easily taking a thursday in
november,
and crafting a grander time,
than some messiah’s
nameday.