Last Christmas Was a Good One

Alone on X-mas day in an embalming river
Old pumpkins shrink like lovers into their own heads.
I wind up a waiter's hand, which grows taller
And taller.

I am alone on Christmas day as usual
In an embalming river.

That spring aside the embalming river we sun and roll
Ourselves into imperial cigars
Stripped of Edwardian habit.

Old pumpkins shrink like lovers into their own heads:
Now, I furiously sweep the chickenshit from my door into a different tallness
And feel nothing calm,
Everything calmly.
Shame is a pebble I can never find in my shoes.