This is the setting.

December. Candy Canes on everyone’s mind, a crisp in the air, syrup flowing in rivers. Patterns fall from the sky; no one picks them up. Women turn to snow and children turn to ice while men flow downhill as water.

Elephants live in underground tunnels in Siberia making toys for children. They are mathematical beings versed in physics. They inherited a human. They left it alone. The elephants debated. They gave up. Into the abyss they decided to go. The human slept and awoke as Santa.

Seasons passed, the holidays ended, Christmas lights blinked hollow. The New Year was born. Its name was Damian, the Omen foretelling the fate of 2022

Mold in January takes control, creeping, crawling, alive with legs and feet and claws. The black-greenness devours the living and the dead, digestion from the inside out. Fear escapes and hides, trapped by itself within itself to avoid anything not itself.

Horns blasted!

The moon ate the sun.

Night swallowed day. Hours defecated minutes.

Open-air bellows, from belfry to Blair.

Frolicking and wheezing, they did too much blow.

That woman, Sally, ate so many donuts!

Willow wisps in the air as mist shrouds the dust.

We play schnozzles for an hour before every meal. It’s not over until a purple orb arises from the middle. You try to find Dairy Lemons but instead it’s Persnickety Supreme.

No fair looking before you die.

Interested bystanders approach and become participants. They all ate under the tree. The heat was just right. There was so much sweat. No wonder they lost track. Everyone knew it was a matter of time. A flick of the nose counts as twice.