Perverse And True

 

This sticky peace, this summertime contentment,

this lugubrious hum of flies and ripening plums,

this pitiless heaven of a shelter

 

is but a grave, a state of anesthesia,

a retreat into a milky womb,

a toothless swamp of health and sex.

 

Shed me of its loving arms,

unfill my stomach of all this food, unhinge my brain

from its benign repose; forgive me peace.

 

just a word-