Jingle Horse Mechanism

Jingle Horse Mechanism

1. bushels of fun

the clopping of dread bells. we pick up

our feet and circle the target lot in loping ovals

mirroring gulls, through cold wind and dry wind,

sunwise. what we surround is solomonic, made

of angry bristles and harness. bordering with black powder and salt

and carrots julienned for the pursed leaves of bell lips.

In bright sun and snowless storm, it rattles for sacrifice.

now summoned, one of us has to purge

this metal, jangling fuck. this abomination, with ringing

bearings and marbles packed into a kind of flesh. Metal

made life, pawing pavement and grounded gum

in apprehension, in aggression. Equine bhangra

on the eve of christ’s birth, the young men of southie

heat their bike chains in the fire, cross their mothers,

begin the lashing. now the jingle hop has begun.

2.  bell rock

A child could lose himself in the giant ornaments

of the Prudential Center. Hung from the corporate heavens

with single glitters the size of your head. Givenchy,

snowglobe, AMEX. The things we do for love

of gods and men, but mostly men. For safety

they drain the Christian Science reflecting pool

in the winter, leaving a browned brick gash

where the shadow of the city should be. Playing

butterscotch hopscotch in this tinseled bloodbath

and asking for more, when so many have none, in the capital

of feeling-like-there’s-something-you-probably-ought-to-be-doing.

and the holiday-party fish pile into kitchens, choke in the air

of the mall, with the pine scented joss sticks and the red garlands

that wrap around  pillars, entrances, so you forget they’re metal detectors.

3. chime in

The moon knows

Christ is dead. So

does grandma,

but she holds up

a candle anyways.

4. Time Dancing

Folks live and die before the world knows

that David Bowie looks like Anima from FFX.

So we die on Christmas Eve and fly into our Playstations

and forget the world, and our bodies lie in the ground,

compress into coal, harden into diamond, and sound

the passing of the years from within the bells of the faith.

5. it’s the right time.

And when the harvest is done we strap

the husks onto the saddle and as our parents

did, we forget the ritual’s ring and jingle and then

when we stand in the snow years later we forget

that the song means death, and the horse means for us.