Revisionist’s History Of Love

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Revisionist’s history of love
A small takedown on the front lawn
Society’s matron’s clucking away
Whispers won’t counteract the dawn
She was an embarrassment of riches
Maintaining a look, polished & dapper
She fell in love with images of marble
Though remaining Fitz’s Lost Little Flapper
Never man enough between her sheets
Circumspect when they found her on the grass
A little more disheveled than she preferred
Especially with that skirt that couldn’t cover her ass

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Max Headroom Is Stuck In A Box

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Max Headroom is stuck in a box
Reclusive creature of yesteryear
Been trapped there under lock
Trembling hands with rippled fear
Our former lives now tarnished
With time dropping of another grain
Too much polish, too much varnish
Our earnest vanity will be our pain
But to peel away those outer layers
Uncover something forgotten & small
Hidden deep, lest our betrayers
Might catch us before the squall

You Think You Need

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You think you need
Everything polished and packaged
Nary a wisp or a stray note to linger
Jealousy breeds contempt
Searching for a digital praise
But perfection is a myth
A trick played upon us by lesser Devils