Midnight pass

There's a haze in the air. 

Gloria's in my hand; it's been a while. 

Floyd's pink guitar 

playing in his inimitable style.

The madness mellows

the world isn't shining in its morning glory.

Even the spin slows

as every teller slowly spins a story.

All the world's a-playin'

and every bit character's a stage

with lines to be sayin'.

Every lit window's another page.

A time when alcohol

has, every sin of nicotine, negated

and conversation is all

about pathology 'tween creator and created.

In the light

of screen-savoured glowing prisms

we delight

in spanish, french and euro rhythms.

Spanish strings

in the background; talk of twinkles from a window.

And of horns and wings

and traditions of people who up and go.

All kinds of carols roll

as they pass in the midnight's mass.

We awake and cajole

a sunny rock-n-roll Christmas.