Sunday, June 30, 2013
In a Modern Vein
Not Getting It Together
-Sonabitch sings off-key. Takes some adjusting
on our part.
-Fuck THAT shit! That's "Music."
-Then what do WE...?
-No name.
-How about smirking?
-Good enough.
Labels: Brand, Music, music group, off-key, singing, theme
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Robotic Sweetie
Lifelike
Lillian’s life-sized doll, the robot Jennie-Ann.
Doormen love chatting with it prior to Lillian’s walks.
Father, intrigued, acquires an adult-sized one, which wife laughs off as midlife nonsense. “No use having sports car in the city, so he has his... ” She calls it Princess Hungaria, after its accent.
He does get the sports car too. A Porsche.
“If you’re gonna be an asshole, why not go total?”
wife quips.
Funny thing happens during his drive to the future. After traffic stop with the robot driving--he drunk–-reveals an actual woman.
“Hunkie Whore from Jersey City!”
Girlfriend Gladys, who always takes the Eve Arden part, remarks “Sounds like a song title.”
“I got a song for him: A Judge Who Thinks He’s Funny.”
That’s just part of the lyric. Song is Making Whoopie.
“And I can’t think of a melody more expensive for balding Romeo-Fatso.”
“Please, no satire. Or accuracy.
“My lawyer says we open at fifteen million.”
“No chance for patching it up?”
“When I got young studs panting after me?”
“I’d like to see a pant in my direction. Just one.”
“You sell yourself short.”
“None of that around here.”
Labels: divorce, doll, Eve Arden, mid-age crisis, robot, wealthy
Friday, June 28, 2013
Party Line
Race and Red
-Republicans doubling down on white.
-Isn't that racist?
-Know that story about Americans attending
Third International in Moscow? After a specific
party-line strategy quickly grasped by most,
they blurt "But wouldn't that be lying?"
Story oft repeated to Stalin to watch him laugh.
Labels: Party Line., Racism, Republican, Stalin
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Wench Dead?
In Another Country
-I had no legs and met a man with no cock.
-How’d he pee?
-Through a kinda straw.
-Extraordinary!
-Pronounce it ex-TRAW-din-ree, like the Brits.
-Sort of crispier?
-You got it! Never caught your name by the way.
-Raw Expletive.
-Ex-TRAW-din-ree!
-You think so? Not around here. Besides, I married Expletive Deleted.
-You balance each other out?
-I wouldn’t say that.
-Well, gotta wheel! But won’t get far. Charging station for my chair?
-That’s Socialism.
-I expect to pay.
-Then you’ll never be disappointed.
Labels: charging station, expletive, mutilated, socialism
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
“Evidence”
Left and Right
place two talk-
ing horses on
CSPAN. Surprise
in a special acute-
ly American way,
accusing each
other of lying hall-
marks. Cite “Studies”
as if trump, when
most pumped full
of shit as they.
Labels: CSPAN, Left, lying, Right, studies
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Decided Contrast, w/History Thrown In
Sisters
-One sister is warm, all-enveloping. But in a
lovely way, not sticky. Other, Business-a-Go-Go!
-Which do you prefer?
-You need ask?
-Prejudice!
-I suppose. I like being with anyone who
doesn't break my balls. If that's prejudice,
then make the most of it.
Labels: businesswoman, female warmth, prejudice, sexism, sister
Monday, June 24, 2013
Picking and Choosing
Elevator
-You mean the AC-DC Senator?
-Let's just say not narrow-gauged.
-Though party is.
-Love will find a way.
-Ways.
Labels: AC-DC, bi-sexual, love, senator, sexuality
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Besides, a Garden Wall
Aftersong
After he quite often dreamt in vain,
Death came for him as efficiently
as it did for Charles Foster Kane.
AMA’s Pathologists had forced
the issue and all municipalities
had to perform autopsies now,
though no foul play indicated.
Dr Singh held up the very heart
in that gray light. “Heavy!
Weigh! I think may be full
of stardust memories.”
Labels: autopsy, Citizen Kane, love, love song, Stardust
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Found Cause
Not just lost
The streets sort themselves,
but still uneasily. You can help
others, though. A fair damsel--
yes there can be such. Inform
her: "You've crossed Marion Lane.
That could be a mistake since
she's a Tartar.” Her forehead re-
sembles a print--pre-digital--
coming up in developer.
Then she laughs at your
waggish contribution
to truly ordinary existence.
Distracting a pretty thing,
though never finding your way
through a dream. That’ll do.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Determining Titles
Right Primer
-Who gives a shit what adults do about sex? It’s their own freakin business!
-Your Libertarianism resonates with us, but not that.
-Oh yeah? Well what’s the difference?
-Calling you Congressman or Mister.
Labels: Conservative, Libertarian, religion in politics, Republican
Thursday, June 20, 2013
feeding dead horse
The Benghazi Party
never mildly sleeps.
Thus yet another t-
shirt touting it.
Ultimately the least de-
monstrative homeless
can wear it inside out.
Labels: Benghazi, Benghazi Party
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Form and Content
Form
The sixth repetitive form that week, and I was careless
filling it out.
Maybe I stuck in one mild flippancy. Didn't list Mickey
Mouse as reference or anything like that.
As a result, summarily dismissed.
My boss was nice enough. He kicked, but their word was final.
The Employment Counselor said that in his experience my odds were now three to one. "First client got plunged into a vagueness soup which can never be resolved; second was jailed; third got an identical job, as if boss and coworkers were cloned or something."
He asked me the designation of the form I had offended with. I couldn't remember.
“For sure 14E. When they get really pissed at something, they use 14E.”
Told me would take ten thousand to get a black market 14E and resubmit.
“I don't get any of that. I'd get 14E'd myself! But if you can come up with the ten, I’d feel pretty positive.”
“Break the law, then?”
“One way of looking at it.”
Labels: arbitrary firing, black market, employment, forms
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Higher Sad
Song of the Heart
She cried in the Bentley going home.
No more of these panels!–-unless nice people on them.
What had she to do with unions?
And what on earth do they want anyway?
They get all in a passion and nothing whatever is clear!
Labels: class, class war, Union
Monday, June 17, 2013
"freedom"
Son and Senator
-It's a conservative country, but not maniacal.
-Unfortunately I need the maniacs.
-Freedom seems to mean the freedom to
do another's bidding.
-They teach you that at Dartmouth College?"
-I don't need Dartmouth College for that.
Labels: Dartmouth, extremists, freedom, senator
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Queer as Court
The Special Court
He thought about a surprise gift to a good friend.
Rejected the feeling as being against the general air.
The Special Court's hearing of the lurid palimony
suit between two actors, where it condemned both,
still poisoned things.
Though now, this Homosexual Court had strayed
away from its charter in favor of economic imbroglios,
the latest a devilishly complex dispute of two mega wineries.
All in resonance with an Administration who had early set the court up in response to its core of puritan moralists, but recently had settled in to making money for itself and its plutocratic friends.
He shook his head vigorously, as if to rid it of politics.
Anyway, he'd tell his girlfriend. They shared everything. Her warm love would envelop.
And...yet...jealously might fire, too.
Let them set up a court for that!
Labels: court, homosexuality, jealousy, plutocracy
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Generations
Funny Clothes
What you did
and how
old becomes the text
for hysterical satire.
Photos of you in wild-
ly funny clothes now
hop round the net.
(Nothing left in dust-
y boxes anymore.) Plus,
with energy sucked from
the young by their lame
camp, they beg you be
more amply ashamed,
in order to halt that
it’s always you.
Labels: camp, fashion, old, satire
Friday, June 14, 2013
Hydraulics
Appointment With a Shade
-I was nice enough to meet with him.
-How'd that go?
-Relatively well. I read him back the questions
he had mailed us.
-And your answers?
-None. All classified. I could tell him nothing.
-Did he leave in high dudgeon?
-More like seething.
-But that seething wasn't the only sound.
-Oh?
-A more hydraulic one.
-That being...?
-The large machine going up his ass.
-Did you say something?
Labels: bureaucracy, NSA, Patriots' Act, security
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Party Politics
PR
-I want Rep_________on CSPAN.
-He’s a vicious idiot!
-Yeah, but actually soft-spoken, and that’ll
work against the jerk-off image.
-Thus good for the party, you think?
-What else? Party! Hip hip and freakin hooray!
-There’s...more to life though, yes?
-You know that song Is That All There Is?
Well that’s all there is.
Labels: Congress, CSPAN, party, party politics, PR
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
At Kool Kup Bar, Muted TV
“How come Bloomberg Business has so many oriental girls?”
“Cuz American ones cows!”
They are still mooing when Mindy and Lace, managers
at a nearby firm, walk through to the dining room.
“That for us?” Lace asks.
“Shit for brains!” Mindy hisses.
“You work with them?”
“Their archetypes.”
“How come Bloomberg Business has so many oriental girls?”
“Cuz American ones cows!”
They are still mooing when Mindy and Lace, managers
at a nearby firm, walk through to the dining room.
“That for us?” Lace asks.
“Shit for brains!” Mindy hisses.
“You work with them?”
“Their archetypes.”
Labels: Bloomberg, business, good ole boys, male, sexism
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
If not now, when?
One more time, and then the last. Ginnie prepares to argue with the Vet.
But he insists “Let’s do it.”
Shortly her other legs would go. And, as she was already deaf and nearly blind…
Ginnie cries holding her as Doc eases the needle
in saying “Goodbye old Honey.”
“He says no charge,” Lillian tells her, so she
needn’t offer ten on account and admit she
started living in her car.
Behind the receptionist, a calendar of a snowy mountain, its gray foothills creeping forward,
through them and the wall in back.
One more time, and then the last. Ginnie prepares to argue with the Vet.
But he insists “Let’s do it.”
Shortly her other legs would go. And, as she was already deaf and nearly blind…
Ginnie cries holding her as Doc eases the needle
in saying “Goodbye old Honey.”
“He says no charge,” Lillian tells her, so she
needn’t offer ten on account and admit she
started living in her car.
Behind the receptionist, a calendar of a snowy mountain, its gray foothills creeping forward,
through them and the wall in back.
Labels: dog, Euthanasia, living in car, vet
Monday, June 10, 2013
Piracy
We drank daily midst the wattles overlooking
the narrow river.
This early evening a pirate took to sea, standing in
a tiny skiff. "Avast ye landlubbers!"
We delivered a universal finger back.
Andy the Antagonist yelled at him "Where's your
pegleg, Asshole?"
The Pirate yelled back "You'll swing from the yardarm
for that!"
"Yeah you shouldn’t insult professions," added Billy O.
"He's heading for a do at the yacht club. Probably a real
pirate, a broker," sneered Christie.
"I can confirm former," once-Little Lucy confirmed.
fresh from her shift at The Dockery. "We're catering."
The professor put in "And I the latter. A broker of sleazy variety well-known on The Street. At any rate, Orwell says we wear a mask and our face gradually grows to fit it."
"Meaning he'll become a genuine pirate in time, if his
act keeps going over to plutocratic applause?"
asked Christie.
"Precisely. And he'll possess a yardarm then."
“Oh no!” fell Andy to the marshy grass in a fit of pseudo choking, which, though, took possession of him with dramatic intensity.
He died in Cove Hospital!
Well, seven years later...but let's hold on to a story while we can.
The broker kept his pirate act, buying a replica ship with skull and crossbones, and bona fide yardarm.
One day a junior executive will hang from it during a degrading orgy, all participants except the broker getting jail time.
He won’t escape, however, a scathing lecture from the judge. Cry in Bentley going home.
We drank daily midst the wattles overlooking
the narrow river.
This early evening a pirate took to sea, standing in
a tiny skiff. "Avast ye landlubbers!"
We delivered a universal finger back.
Andy the Antagonist yelled at him "Where's your
pegleg, Asshole?"
The Pirate yelled back "You'll swing from the yardarm
for that!"
"Yeah you shouldn’t insult professions," added Billy O.
"He's heading for a do at the yacht club. Probably a real
pirate, a broker," sneered Christie.
"I can confirm former," once-Little Lucy confirmed.
fresh from her shift at The Dockery. "We're catering."
The professor put in "And I the latter. A broker of sleazy variety well-known on The Street. At any rate, Orwell says we wear a mask and our face gradually grows to fit it."
"Meaning he'll become a genuine pirate in time, if his
act keeps going over to plutocratic applause?"
asked Christie.
"Precisely. And he'll possess a yardarm then."
“Oh no!” fell Andy to the marshy grass in a fit of pseudo choking, which, though, took possession of him with dramatic intensity.
He died in Cove Hospital!
Well, seven years later...but let's hold on to a story while we can.
The broker kept his pirate act, buying a replica ship with skull and crossbones, and bona fide yardarm.
One day a junior executive will hang from it during a degrading orgy, all participants except the broker getting jail time.
He won’t escape, however, a scathing lecture from the judge. Cry in Bentley going home.
Labels: business, orgy, Pirate, Plutocrat, Wall St
Sunday, June 09, 2013
Are times
with Prima Ballerina
where she frees
the bounds of earth. Sly
illusion, so say you. I say
she floats; you, just
seems to. Leave
no certain room
for romance,
there is none.
with Prima Ballerina
where she frees
the bounds of earth. Sly
illusion, so say you. I say
she floats; you, just
seems to. Leave
no certain room
for romance,
there is none.
Labels: ballet, Prima Ballerina, Romance
Saturday, June 08, 2013
Musical Tastes
-Doing? Nothing? Listening to Les Deux Pigeons
Ballet Suite.
-Fairy stuff! I’m Beethoven man. Blunt. You ever hear
Rage For a Lost Penny?
-Don’t know.
-Dedicated to all thick Irishmen everywhere.
-Thence to you?
-On the button!
-Well, know thyself, as–-was it Hamlet said that?
-Everybody has said that.
-Well, there are cliches in music too.
-That’s why it’s good to know so little about it.
-What does the wife do about your thickness?
-Hits me.
-Well...the violent aspect of love.
-Among infinities.
-How about the children?
-I’m past figuring them out.
-Unpredictable?
-Where would you start?
-So, all in all, a normal family?
-I’d say.
-Doing? Nothing? Listening to Les Deux Pigeons
Ballet Suite.
-Fairy stuff! I’m Beethoven man. Blunt. You ever hear
Rage For a Lost Penny?
-Don’t know.
-Dedicated to all thick Irishmen everywhere.
-Thence to you?
-On the button!
-Well, know thyself, as–-was it Hamlet said that?
-Everybody has said that.
-Well, there are cliches in music too.
-That’s why it’s good to know so little about it.
-What does the wife do about your thickness?
-Hits me.
-Well...the violent aspect of love.
-Among infinities.
-How about the children?
-I’m past figuring them out.
-Unpredictable?
-Where would you start?
-So, all in all, a normal family?
-I’d say.
Labels: Beethoven, children, Irish, love, marriage, Music, relationship
Friday, June 07, 2013
Modern Auditors
-Who's speaking?
-Lester Benbaw 3rd.
-He fills the screen with dogmatic certainty.
-Yeah, but it's an old tape. He's had sex change.
Lilly Marlene now.
-From the song?
-Yes, and promises to be true.
-As a Republican, she'll hafta switch.
-Well, good at that.
-Who's speaking?
-Lester Benbaw 3rd.
-He fills the screen with dogmatic certainty.
-Yeah, but it's an old tape. He's had sex change.
Lilly Marlene now.
-From the song?
-Yes, and promises to be true.
-As a Republican, she'll hafta switch.
-Well, good at that.
Labels: Lily Marlene, political switch, politics, Republican, sex change
Thursday, June 06, 2013
Polo and Paranoia
I filled out the computer form without a hitch.
Until 14a.
It asked for innocuous background information, and yet ghosted
out when I entered the first letter.
I tried submitting the form but, you guessed it, was
informed I must fill out 14a, required field.
In the comments section, I told of my difficulty.
In spare prose.
Resubmitted, and got the message again.
Called the 800 number, where an Adrian of
indeterminate sex asked me if I had objections
to what 14a asked.
“None whatsoever.”
“I got your form up on my screen and 14a receives
information.”
“Glitch on my end then. Must be some way...?”
“Someone will be sent out.”
“You're kidding! They still do that?”
“Rarely. It’s hardly desirable.”
They did, in the form of two fellows in black shoes
who proved quite gentle in their kidding. "Now you're
not gonna gum up the whole works by refusing to
do 14a?” asked one.
“Who do you think you are? Frances Gumm?”
laughed the other.
“That was the real name of Judy Garland,” explained
the first. But was a bit hot the other fellow had said it.
“Anyway...when we leave, you promise to give it another shot, right?”
I did. Immediately. Ghosted out again. So next
time I typed in Frances Gumm, which it accepted.
Then sailed right through. I was welcomed
to the Family and “would hear much more
in the ensuing week and months!”
When I heard nothing, I asked my tech-
and-everything-else savvy friend, Maxie-Mo.
"That Frances Gumm thing'll get all the
way to Washington. You stumbled into the
Inner Sanctum.
You can plead ignorance, but you look so
that way, they'll never believe.”
“What can I do...?”
“Wait it out for another year. Then they'll come and
search. Just for show. They'll throw things around
and leave. You'll never hear from them again.
Or you will.
If you do, be drones by the window thing.
Again, just for show.
You're really not in any trouble. Yet.
Me, I’m putting Francis Gumm with my passwords.
Gonna hack the shit outa ‘em!”
He did, filling out 14a properly for me. Even as
to making me an x-Goal Polo star. He does, but I
don’t know enough of what’s good in Polo.
In handicap number or anything else.
Laurette Devine of Action News Sports Central wants to
interview me.
Maxie-Mo says “Do some googling and then go ahead with it. Everything
is shit today anyway. We’re in the last freakin chukka! The Frances Gumm one.”
I filled out the computer form without a hitch.
Until 14a.
It asked for innocuous background information, and yet ghosted
out when I entered the first letter.
I tried submitting the form but, you guessed it, was
informed I must fill out 14a, required field.
In the comments section, I told of my difficulty.
In spare prose.
Resubmitted, and got the message again.
Called the 800 number, where an Adrian of
indeterminate sex asked me if I had objections
to what 14a asked.
“None whatsoever.”
“I got your form up on my screen and 14a receives
information.”
“Glitch on my end then. Must be some way...?”
“Someone will be sent out.”
“You're kidding! They still do that?”
“Rarely. It’s hardly desirable.”
They did, in the form of two fellows in black shoes
who proved quite gentle in their kidding. "Now you're
not gonna gum up the whole works by refusing to
do 14a?” asked one.
“Who do you think you are? Frances Gumm?”
laughed the other.
“That was the real name of Judy Garland,” explained
the first. But was a bit hot the other fellow had said it.
“Anyway...when we leave, you promise to give it another shot, right?”
I did. Immediately. Ghosted out again. So next
time I typed in Frances Gumm, which it accepted.
Then sailed right through. I was welcomed
to the Family and “would hear much more
in the ensuing week and months!”
When I heard nothing, I asked my tech-
and-everything-else savvy friend, Maxie-Mo.
"That Frances Gumm thing'll get all the
way to Washington. You stumbled into the
Inner Sanctum.
You can plead ignorance, but you look so
that way, they'll never believe.”
“What can I do...?”
“Wait it out for another year. Then they'll come and
search. Just for show. They'll throw things around
and leave. You'll never hear from them again.
Or you will.
If you do, be drones by the window thing.
Again, just for show.
You're really not in any trouble. Yet.
Me, I’m putting Francis Gumm with my passwords.
Gonna hack the shit outa ‘em!”
He did, filling out 14a properly for me. Even as
to making me an x-Goal Polo star. He does, but I
don’t know enough of what’s good in Polo.
In handicap number or anything else.
Laurette Devine of Action News Sports Central wants to
interview me.
Maxie-Mo says “Do some googling and then go ahead with it. Everything
is shit today anyway. We’re in the last freakin chukka! The Frances Gumm one.”
Labels: computer form, Frances Gumm, ghosting out, Judy Garland, polo
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
System
Last arrest,
she finessed
corruption,
hers and theirs.
But this time,
detective asks tight-
assed questions, desk
with tilted photographs
of family. Lawyering up,
awaits his hammy
Peter Max entrance.
Pleasant enough clam, she
can hold that pose forever.
Last arrest,
she finessed
corruption,
hers and theirs.
But this time,
detective asks tight-
assed questions, desk
with tilted photographs
of family. Lawyering up,
awaits his hammy
Peter Max entrance.
Pleasant enough clam, she
can hold that pose forever.
Labels: arrest, corruption, Criminal Justice, Detective, lawyer, lawyer up
Tuesday, June 04, 2013
IRS Targets Sheer Reactionaries?
There’s bright
principle
at the bottom
of the bottom
of all of this. We
must protect rights
of idiots.
The Congress being
the resonant body.
Labels: Congress, Congressional idiots, investigation, reactionary, tea party
Monday, June 03, 2013
Various Names
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
“St-r-o-”
“You're correct there, old chap.”
“k-k-k.”
“Yes, a stroke. Don't say anymore. I know what
to do,” Nigel reassured. He was on a kind of
sabbatical from Queens College Hospital, London.
Jiffy Cripps, the driver, yelled after a half hour,
"I'm almost stuck here. Creeping! They think our
siren and lights are for the Little League kids--
they won the State and are going to Williamsport.”
“I imagine that's good then?”
“Where you been?”
“England.”
“Why in hell did you come here?”
“For a woman. What else?”
“I'll get the fire guys on the radio. They'll
clear a path for us.”
“Don't bother now. He's gone.”
“That’s above your pay grade to say that.”
“Perhaps, but I am actually a physician.”
“So you went a notch or two down to come
here, right?”
“Of course! Transatlantic Idiot! you glimpse
before you.”
“Just who is this wom...?"
“Celeste Broadworth.”
“Oh yeah? That's some family! The old man shot
dead a Chinese guy in bed with wifey.”
“Really must inquire of Celeste, if ever again we...!
This traffic!”
“Well, never was a bigger story around here.”
Unknown, of course, to both, Ripper Broadworth
was also threading his way through the celebration.
In a Mercedes, having been pardoned that morning.
Jif started absently singing some old thing from
The Stones. His mother had wrestled under the name
Darlyne Dire.
Labels: death, emergency, English, infidelity, Little League, murder, Stones, traffic
Sunday, June 02, 2013
Bucking Bronco Riders
When your head hits the ground,
it’s time to let go.
So does every profession
have its clever warning.
Lots of wit goes into
rounding together. Those
intending evil to you
even as we speak
being no dumbbells.
When your head hits the ground,
it’s time to let go.
So does every profession
have its clever warning.
Lots of wit goes into
rounding together. Those
intending evil to you
even as we speak
being no dumbbells.
Labels: guild, organization, profession, solidarity, Union
Saturday, June 01, 2013
Drama in Concord
Our own Drama Queen
throws all at preparation.
Hair and eyes and speech.
Most performances get
overwrung and fizzle.
Her new husband, though (such
a thing as Drama King?) a holy
internationalist. They act for cause
presently, and have even gathered
the Academy Awards appropriate
to Religion. God is pleased. Side-
kick, Padre Time, though,
resists lasering for his raw,
inescapable quotas.
No matter. Who remains
will dress the other's corpse,
florid in the way of Faith.
Our own Drama Queen
throws all at preparation.
Hair and eyes and speech.
Most performances get
overwrung and fizzle.
Her new husband, though (such
a thing as Drama King?) a holy
internationalist. They act for cause
presently, and have even gathered
the Academy Awards appropriate
to Religion. God is pleased. Side-
kick, Padre Time, though,
resists lasering for his raw,
inescapable quotas.
No matter. Who remains
will dress the other's corpse,
florid in the way of Faith.
Labels: death, Drama, Drama Queen, religion
