I want to describe this Christmas market
with its two santa clauses
with its smell of burning sugar and nuts
its pointy shoed elves, its fake snow
on miniature chalets, its happy tunes
its steel frames covered with fake silk flowers
its plastic mistletoes in the flickering light
with a language that isn’t subject to corporate power
with a language that isn’t the echo of an editor
whose job it is to make you come and buy again
with a language that doesn’t come from a spray can
one that was never invented to exploit us, or
one that makes her believe it’s real for one more hour