Wake-up Call

"Morning is a dagger."
Easy for you to say
with your grubby hands
in the toolbox night
calls dream, easy
to grind that out against
the dawn, you super-ego,
you unwanted Zeus
hefting a Black & Decker
at the margins where
I'm sleeping, easy enough.
Waking my pillow is wet
with tears, piss, electricity,
—what the devil—
I reach and touch my head,
find it all trepanned,
part caved in part drilled,
a stream of bloody words
spilling everywhere, over
my hands, oh yes you
like that awfully don't you
skully apparition you
your unholy face there
like a briefcase of bone,
Loki, whispering
"The dagger is a telephone"
or was it Zeus, or Loki,
is words or what was it
night or drills or blood
or trombones you bonehead
what was it what are you?
Answer.