Day After Day

 

Day After Day

 

 

Did any radicals even seize control?

Potting a pink Friday morning hole

instead, we seen it mostly all before:

trucks dumping journalists on floors

of similar looking different places,

shoving windsock cameras in faces,

begging them to cry rainbows on cue,

bleating hyperbole to adoring crew

like anchors, then it’s back to studio,

as empty words spill into sky of blue,

pale the moon pulls oceans to and fro;

and without love, whatever will we do?

 

 

Did any rivers even flood the plains?

Glance up from some tropical clime,

and we might miss love’s island kiss,

her jerked off face contorted in bliss,

all voyeur’s welcome in tissue paradise,

while the banks bust for half the price

and little change in the current climate.

He’s waving his banana like a primate,

she beats his bare bottom with a shoe,

my empty words spill into sky of blue,

pale the moon pulls oceans to and fro;

and without love, whatever will we do?

 

 

Did any virus even decimate the land?

Heave burnt eyes from phone in hand,

sufficient candy has now been crushed

to feed our dying darlings. Sit hushed

all masked conspirators, fiddle thumbs,

ignore those conspirators looking glum,

snap your scanty pictures of nude bush

burning, airbrushing your spotty thrush

for money, fame leaves us looking blue,

empty skies drop words of nothing new,

pale the moon pulls oceans to and fro;

and without love, whatever will we do?

 

 

 

And did we ever fall in love so badly?

Pushing eternal memories away sadly,

pain plagues our every dour taken step,

worse while we’re not old enough yet

to shrug, shake it off and simply forget,

while our world in death throes sweats.

And even as you slip on a wedding ring

falling forward, you must model a grin

while thinking mostly of me, it’s true,

as empty words spill from sky of blue,

pale the moon pulls oceans to and fro;

and without love, whatever will we do?