Each morning I meet my crazy quilt
bright eyed, in from the edge,
spectacular as Easter’s ilk
eggs tuck in ditch and hedge .
What’s so crazy about a mantle
pieced from robe and shirt,
summer culotte, tartan flannel
destined for the dirt.
Each day a junta erects regimes
Of arms and legs and balls
Time is bottled, black deals are sealed,
piked heads fill the halls.
What’s best about hegemony;
when sovereigns step aside?
Begets a tidge of larceny
and mayhem for its a bride.
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