(...)

From ChRONS AND MAXIMS

* * *

We all are little tyrants in the morning.
We're mad because of cut-off morning dreams,
And I am crawling slowly to the bathroom,
I'm trying not to boore at all the household.
There, like a monsegnier in his black stockings,
A spider shakes her bosom, great and lylac,
And pulls her cross aside, under the latrine
I'm sitting there, unlocking my left eye.
Then I am lining jeans along the wall,
And jumping right into them from the cupboard,
I'm searching for a comb through table's surface,
I'm kicking coverlet into the bedside,
And run to drink the coffee from the cup,
And thus my new-born day is now begun.