Tour de farce

How gaah, the poem

that butchered a piece of wisdom,

an inch of a syllable;

then buried a piece of truth

in a selfie of words –

the masturbation of the trivial,

essence be gone.

 

“Feign solidarity, y’all,

and hashtag empathy!”

The bard in LV flip flops

kicked the muses’ asses

for auld lang syne’s sake:

“J***-us, burn the Burns

for a good ol’ LOL’s sake!”

Blame the witches,

you know, like they were kings

we’ve caught in a battle of wifis

that sustains the haut monde,

umm, gerber-suckling to Paris

like THE Paris on a plane.

C’mon, do me a favour!

Let you like me, share me,

smh, comment on me

with photoshopped smiles,

with bonbon-ic emoticons!

Some things were lost

between the tug of glitz,

and the pity was deleted

from the sceptic tank of logic;

believing that in war or feast

abattoirs were concealed.

Tsk.

Tsk.

Tsk.

Diamonds and elegies.

~0~

Armineonila M.

July 2015

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