January 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
If it isn’t a pathetic fallacy,
It’s a paradox.
The blind man walks
Alone; the sun shines quite bright
Though in his eyes, it is night.
The couple on the park bench
Is engulfed by red roses’ stench.
Tell her a secret, she’ll tell
You a lie and everybody fell
Like Jack and Jill or like
The sniveling asshole riding his bike
On the cobblestone path
Along green grass and angry bushes’ wrath
Do not contain your excitement
This is no poem; there is no enticement,
No beauty, no passion
Just a ramble in a rhyming fashion.
Jack’s struggling because he’s the dyslexic,
And Jill’s a little white lily; she’s anorexic.
He’s reading a book, propped on a pillow
While she pretends to lunch under a willow.
Don’t be jealous that they’re so perfect
In a world of perfect defects
If that ain’t a paradox, then what is?
Good, then seal it with a kiss
Because I’m telling the truth, and it’s all
Bordering something a little political.
There he is again, the blind man
And the hot air balloon’s flying as high as it can
It’s as blue as the sky
Which is as blue as blue dye.
Now she’s telling a secret and
You’ve told her a fib; hypocrisy never ends
Its willful reign over a happy world
The biker’s smoothing his disheveled blond curls.
Welcome to virtual reality.