The summer solstice means the days are longer,
Your cry is slight at first, but then it's stronger.
And early vivid sunlight hits your eyes,
The sun has risen; thus the Son must rise.
As you attempt to yank me from my bed,
I shield my face, you kick my nuts instead.
Your voice rings forth in obstinate soprano,
Before too long, you're at your toy piano.
I'd drag a rusty blade across my cheek,
I'd snorkel in a cesspool for a week.
Or shove a red-hot poker through my spleen
If you would only sleep past 6:15
Sunday, June 21, 2009
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