Game Show Lives

Game show lives play tricks on themselves all the time
Every prize that burns their eyes is just another loss to buy
Maybe the world, could be the sky is only sign for sale
Hay by the bale goes to barn of highest bidder
An inveterate kidder of fiction and fact
Has the strangest addictions for rusting brass tact
Worn out fashion and the style inside out
Looks like something special, what it is, is in doubt
Come to the margin, reach your fingers and stretch
Shrink like a violet spectrum where shadows sketch
An outline hollow, shallow full of empty voices gone mad
It's all good and too bad, an endless pantomime
Game show lives play tricks on themselves all the time . . .




Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 506 times
Written on 2016-04-22 at 20:53

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