The horde

Astride a tattered apishamore, the gossamer flesh of perception interflows with her own translucence

Harassed by the frenzied sycamores, as they gaure through contempt and dissonance

They blindly hurl their calumnies, rendering her angelic glow foredone

She bears in this chaos her harmony, smearing just running kohl into war paint

Emboldened by the vile loess, she detaches from the ignorant horde’s reality

And behind her petrous passivity, she’s deafened, but for the soughing at her breast

art: (untitled) by Zdzisław Beksiński

Plastic

She thought it was fantastic
her thin smile always plastic

And gained many sycophants
who just wanted in her pants

Thought their admiration real
that she had real sex appeal

Her heart’s what would truly show
hidden plots, intentions faux

She teased to keep them at bay
so she then could have her way

Rather lie than they find out
what her mind is all about

Time will make the plastic melt
she’ll cry ’bout the hand she’s dealt

Wonder where her fans have gone
when younger smiles come along

 

Satin

her satin tongue
ere ever sprung
wefts and warps
lies to be strung

‘hind silken maw
and tightened jaw
her needle guards
pierce red and raw

it’s her defense
and recompense
a loving heart
the pain immense

so shifting eye
and shifting lie
will weave the tales
but then deny

she’ll not devolve
instead absolve
the innocent
she’ll not involve

‘fore lies are sung
when they’re still young
she’ll bite into
her satin tongue

art: my opinion about you by Agnes Cecile