in bed, in lederhosen

Bertolt Brecht stirs beside me,
muttering something about Die 
Moritat von Mackie Messer. On 
the other side, in a mini dirndl 
with white school sox, Lotte Lenya 
murmers the words in a kind of
Sprechstimme, speak-singing the 
English call it, as a means of dis-
guising the deterioration of her
voice. Kurt Weill is currently not
around; but the words, the mutter-
ings, impersonate his presence.
All this because it is extremely 
uncomfortable sleeping in leather.
Even though it's soft, it sometimes 
chafes the thighs, plus experts 
warn that it stresses the material
& the seams. But I find that cer-
tain music will alleviate all dis-
comfort. Tonight it's Die Drei-
groschenoper. Tomorrow maybe
Bach, or Concierto de Aranjuez. A
few days in the nude will follow, 
or up until the weather changes.