How frostily jingle the harness bells!
—John Ashbery
It’s Christmas in the dungeon.
The cleaning crew arrives at
the same time as all of the
kinfolk. You, always best
at gauging each guest’s
sadness, go about your
measurements, pausing
after each appraisal to
scribble a few things in
ink into your graph-
paper binder. All
the sobbing not
withstanding,
we each love
the holidays,
and i’ts a good
thing, too, as
getting along
so well submerged
as we are among the
whips and chains (but
check out our tree of
barbed wire lit
so! it’s brand
spanking new!),
a sling draped
from the ceiling
garnishes each
corner, a nest-
ful of feather
boas atop each,
just for a bit of
equanimity.
