Plastic Opera Poem by Lisa West
Plastic Opera
It’s a plastic opera,
a mind dead samba.
Pretending to matter,
When it’s mind over matter,
a weak numerator with a black heart.
It’s all by the numbers,
a phony smile and then the big Rip Off,
all while praising their own goodness.
Empty, Hollow, a great big Nothing sucking up life.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
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4/23/2024 12:19:43 PM # 1.0.0.1119
