The philosophy of Santa

The crickets know my first name
sdrawkcab|||backwards
and annunciate in puzzles
so the night is far less dim
to my senses.

Our pieces shade contrast.
We break-even in consequence,
my answers whisper for irrelevance
as joy sleighs in the sky.

But Jesus was never dressed in red
unless we account for his blood…

This seems practical in our time
as your only vision is for success
to rationalize to your death/
//eliminate your debt.

I’ve only ever imagined collecting stars until my end.
I planned to keep them in my pockets
but I never have any on…

For now, I just rely on those crickets;
silence will prove I am gone.

There has yet to be a silence
I’ve heard.
You should listen for it, like me—

but you wouldn’t,
I think you can’t.
Because for you,
you rely on a parable
that teaches ignorance of fear
to be a courageous pursuit.

You don’t revolve
or package thoughtfulness,
although you see yourself
wrapped in pinstripe.

Your letting your conscious break
into the dark…
Come drape in infinite light;

an existence on axis,
an existence on axis.

I only hear chirping
but
I would never exchange this,
I could never exchange this–
I chose annoyance over oblivion.