She, in his eyes, is no art
She, in her eyes, is the water in the cup
She wont be your mother
She wont make you a father
She'll give you milk to fill your cart
She wont help you when it falls apart

White and Red
Christmas is all about Buckethead
Wonky bucketbots loyal helping-hand
Shred gift of magical BucketheadLand

Buckethead... seasonless Santa
Metaphorically & Literally
Especially Musically

the
slow drip
of accumulated
moisture,
sliding
from
leaf to leaf
accentuated
by clear
bell-like bird
calls

myriad
shades of
green
and brown,
glistening
in sharp
shafts
of smoking sunshine,
that shifts at
each
wind's gust

far from the sidewalk
and
rat race running
we immerse ourselves
in primitivea
trekking
along tracks
seeking nothing more
than
the next step
the next vista,
revelling in our
cavemanesque
selves

We
unwind,
leaving
ribbons of
stress to
flutter
behind us
before
they
disappear
into mist
and then
become
zephyr
breeze
breaths
Each step
lighter
unburdened
we become more
fae and less
humane...
Working
not for the
daily bread
or even
the
eating
of it
But we come
for the
presence of the green
the prior
in ourselves.
the interaction
Simple cell
recalling
simple cell
and sighing
in relief
at finding
friend.

So wr
as our
collection
of priors
find places
mordial
and gather
to worship
To release
The inner
covers
of civility
and stand
in the grace
of the green