Christ's Other Mess

The precise precision of plastic

Furnished flower-pots made me queasy.

Obnoxious day-glow orange refulgence,

Undercooked mince, port-wine indulgence.

I vomit.

I urinate amidst skunk odor, pale gnomes

Flaking paint. Alcoholic allusion lisp.

A buddha reduced to a whore.

Remains of a banal astucious display,

Abscess on the way, blue-jay decorated wings,

Flowering wheelie-bins & nothing.

Judgmental? … Fuck it!

I pray.

The door swings on in its hinges,

Behind me, concluding Christmas.