WAKING

I’m waking up these days a Christian elder going to the lions, fleeing tangled sheets, pursuing giggling skittering slippers down a hollowed hall past mirrors making merry at the rumpled face, before it’s shown to the uninvited window washer in the half-baked sun, wielding his tools—while spitting crowds of encircling lions await the lamb, now groomed for the day, splashing his good morning in the frying pan of CNN.