Monday, September 21, 2009
Multi-Colored Confusion In A Reluctant Communist Double Agent
Soapdish, soap sud on my brainless idol,
though true I may be I maybe syncopated.
Famously I glide along like an old song
familiar to Sinatra fans but crucified,
mollified, beatified you. Had to be you.
Santa and saturnine, red-cloaked verily
like a Führer, I poke my tribe's chief
as though it was morning. Had to be me.
Had to be free, have to be, see, wily
like some parrot on a cardinal's welter.