Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Political Art and Spies

What now, what now, dull am I in highbrow articulation.
Come now, come now, defend the salacious w/ inebriation.
I'm getting tired of all this rhyming, can we detour to

a broader picture, a camera on the kidnapping, notebooks
on the noggin? I was with reporters the other night and,
guess what, the rhyme did fall on a lime juice & gin hold

care of a flow that intended no friggin' show in the brackish
afterhours. But I sensed subliminal subsumption, and so
proposed a creaturely cheer on an asshole's hobnobbing

with art's eyes sideglancing towards a pretty execution.
Until I, bellicose and ephemeral, ranted pedantically,
argued with the stanzas till my poetry clapped dying.

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