Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The Player

They’re featuring on screen

It makes me want to puke

Their plot is full of scheme

Forgetting is not a fluke.


Its distance is for you to deem

Don’t gimme that kind of gloom

You’re not getting one hint?

You’d better wish not for a doom.


The cover’s a tacky magazine

Gaping airs is seen to fume

Check the wires, search within

Cease the idolizing blurred by perfume.


This screen; you know it isn’t clean

Get a better picture, frame it in hafnium

Smile on wide, make it look pristine

And perhaps frame it in barium.

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