When people at the airport cry
And hug and look so sad,
I laugh at them, then ponder why
They live to be so drama-clad.
Cothurnus' fit is tight, will squeeze
A flood of tears from head,
Then paracosm god will please
The need to build a phony stead.
That fucker and his fucker friends,
Their volume earns a fee.
Their winged plate, I hope, portends
The knife-cut bones they'll pay to me.
Tyrannosaur of cyborg form,
Metallic savior-beast,
Should enter to deface, deform,
And toss whatever I like least.
Great rhymes and metaphor! Will need to look up a few of those references though ;)
ReplyDeleteNormal children's play is a bit frightening: "and we carried off like spoils the heads we'd smash right off your dolls" (ECostello)
ReplyDeleteIt all normal.
ReplyDeleteyour anger and disgust at maudlin hypocrisy is sharply evident here.as always, stingingly done.
ReplyDelete