Make Me Fashion


Who, What
Where, When and Why
Do I have to
look to the sky
for the answers
that make prancers
I know somebody does love me
Looking as good
As I want to

Do I?

Patiently, I’m waiting
Inspite of my hating
It’s so damn degrading
Feeling my life fading

Still, I look to the sky
And ask,
Who, What
Where, When and Why
Do I have to
look to the sky
when it already knows
and sees my cry
(But still, I fly)

I don’t need You
to flip the script
on my already ripped
passion
To know me –
Then see Thee

Turn Me into Fashion

Man’s Own Box


Appearances are everything

Along with that

despite one’s name

shaven better than beard

endowed rather than not

Cold is like hot-headed

Shy is worthless

while quiet means nothing

to live without doing

Who wants that recipe?

Mankind wears a button

of those they know and love

and hate

Still, they are in the know

Trying

Doing

Lest one tries to produce

Failure is a label

worn after grief

Alas, appearances are everything

when we remind ourselves

that we are so worthy

Oh, Church is just a Fashion Show


Grand words

Statements are made

As they enter the doors

To hear the Gospel spread

A nod

A glimpse

Even from the preacher

while his wife sits close by

Gawking with jealousy

Orchestrated Amens

Applaud the podium

For attention

He knows

 who he wants next

White bears no sign of purity

just eagerness

to be eager

The sermon is so clear

as to who is to fear

Prepped to lay low

Oh, the Church is just a fashion show

A dress rehearsal for

the horn to blow

So the designer will

have his due fill

for the ears hear his skill

and tilt the till

Come see the Garden of Eden

bend Saville Rowe

while his wife sits by

and dare to show

just how often the blood does flow

It compels them all

To take the fall

Next Sunday is

Swimwear

And boys

rest high in banana hammocks

 and toys

and pretty things like socks

The Created Hungry Machine


 

 So many number ones

 No one can stay on top

Longer than they need to

How did they get there anyway?

 

Taking turns trading places

Confusing dollar signs

With pretty and

Vacant pumped faces

 

Nothing to say

Nothing be said

Just another play day

But you will not play dead

 

Untuck your shirt

Smear your makeup

How can a review hurt

When you hold the Gold Cup

 

Chew bubble gum

Then blow it out

Machines make your words hum

Even when you scream and shout

 

It’s your body and face

That keeps you in the race

As long as you stay cool

You won’t break any rule

 

Just smile a while

And let the cameras flash

Enjoy your pile

All that green known as cash