dark december elves
scuttle cross the rooftop
tuck and pitch down the flue
bent and marching shadows
cross the wrappings of your dreams and mother and father whisper sleep sleep
while gnarled hands erect rusted
sharp and shaven fascinations
web wire to wire and grease
the bites of lock-jawed gears and mother and father whisper sleep sleep
away the hobnailed elves
like smoke the scent of dirty pennies
tramped into the carpet
as dull machinations moan
and crank the dirge of closing
fables folded dry between pages
122 and 123 of volume L-Mc and mother and father whisper sleep sleep
then descend in stocking feet and girded robes
to dismantle the hooks and tricks
cart away the poisoned oranges
plump the silken bows
caress your closed and dancing eyes
with bandaged fingers and whisper sleep sleep sleep
