Burningman: a Poetic Sunrise

I am waking up.  No.  I am being awakened.  Rudely.  By a man with a megaphone in the middle of a square, next to camp that generously provided couches and pillows…  the very couches and pillows upon which I am but one of many burners.  The sun is baking, but it’s early.  Too early.  Too early for this.  And he is yelling.  As if the megaphone isn’t loud enough.  And it goes something like this (crass, read at your own risk):