Another Stripped-Down Day

Sweet deep sleep –
a quarter of five in the morning.
A tiny shiny aberrance is dawning:

strives to undermine the gladness
of the plenitude. (Anarchists
hate peace.) A little flick –

a crease – a click – a creak –
as if a cricket cricked – a tweak:
the lumbering encumbrance

of the wondrous somnolently
mumbling jumble that you are
ignores it like the monarch

that you are, determines
to enjoy the Berlin Philharmonic
playing Brahms beside

the naked orgy of defrocked
hot funky hunky monks
who sing along in harmony –

the German Requiem!
“The heck with them!”,
hiccups the little buzz of beast

who’s just begun to make a feast
of wrecking everything
and ripping it away.

The monarch is dethroned.
The boner is deboned.
Another stripped-down day.


 
 
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