Queens: More than a Borough
My drama is bigger than yours. My drama can kick your drama’s ass. Well maybe not, but it sure is kicking mine. Like a rain soaked grave, I stand in this muddy hole, sides slick, unassailable and count the piles of tragedy, all the while knowing it will bury me not facilitate a climb out. I attempt to display the face of comedy and yet the mask can not fool me, my true audience. I think if I can keep it all up on stage I will be alright, but then the point of theater is that everything is carried away in the minds of all who come and watch. Silence doesn’t help either for there is little worse than a bad mime and doing it well just makes me Lillian Gish. So, back to Bohemia for isn’t it all a rhapsody, though it would all be so much better if Freddy Mercury weren’t dead.
String your dreams together and let them fly
A doll stands wedged between two mailboxes
Naked and exposed,
The edge of the road passing her by.
She is there to pay for my self-loathing
I throw my treasures in the air
As skeet to be shot and shattered.
Hate is the obnoxious microbe
Which sours my digestion
And rids me of nutrition and affection.
I purge love and tenderness
I rip the covers from my playthings
And leave them to bleed.
I hide in my self-destruction
I put garish displays streetside
And cry my tears alone.
I cannot ransom to pay the price of fear
I must bring in the broken babies
And put hate out on the curb.